A Turbulent Youth
by Amousca
Summary: 3011 TA - Young Princess Lothiriel gets her first horseback riding lesson. 3021 TA - Lothiriel is wed to King Éomer of Rohan. But what leads from one to the other? A story of the mistakes of youth and the life of a woman before she entered history.
1. Prologue

_3011 T.A., Dol Amroth_

_**Prologue**_

_Note: "Hands" is a measure of height for horses. Given as the height at the withers, it equals ten centimetres, or four inches._

Young Princess Lothíriel of Dol Amroth ran along the castle's corridors, the skirt of her gown bunched up in her hands at a very improper height. Even though her nurse, aunt, maid and mistress all tried to inculcate her the manners worthy of her rank, the eleven year-old girl resisted with all her headstrongness. Her aunt Ivriniel never failed to note with a condescending nod – or a consternated shake of the head, depending on the circumstances – that poor Lothíriel's exclusively male family environment no doubt was responsible for making her so difficult.

The girl burst out into the stables courtyard, breathless. Prince Imrahil, who had sent for her and waited for her, repressed a smile of amusement at her look. Her emerald gown fit faultlessly and displayed just enough lace and silk to put in evidence the princess' rank while still remaining befitting of a child. However, the way Lothíriel held the skirt up to her knees so she could run transformed the gown's look radically, as well as the way it showed her creamy stockings and the curly lace that ended them just under the knees. Dainty and discreet make-up also coloured Lothíriel's face, with the trademark subtlety and elegance of her maid Sanriel. Lothíriel's hair was beautifully braided with intricate ribbons in green and yellow. However, Lothíriel's breathless run had undone part of the braid and many ribbons hung askew, fluttering rather ungraciously in the light afternoon breeze.

Prince Imrahil cleared his throat.

"Daughter, come here, I want you to meet someone."

But, having already spotted the Swan Knight standing stiffly at attention behind her father, the girl suddenly turned shy and reflexively smoothed her skirt and hair down as best she could before stepping forward hesitantly. Imrahil smiled encouragingly at her.

"Yes, Father?" she began with all the patience and decorum her aunt tried so hard to inculcate her. But then her natural enthusiasm broke through her attempt at maturity and she exuberantly hopped up and down. "My nurse said you had finally agreed to let me take horseback riding lessons and that you even found a _Rohirrim_ to teach me! Is it true? Tell me tell me tell me, is it truly true?"

Imrahil laughed and his deep voice carried through the courtyard. Some of the stable boys turned to give a fond smile to their prince who so obviously loved his troublesome daughter.

"Rohirrim is plural, Lothíriel. Rohir is singular. Here, I want you to meet him."

Imrahil turned towards the Swan Knight. The tall man stood level with the Prince, but he looked much more massive with the full plate and over-sized helmet in the shape of wings that identified him as a Swan Knight.

"Lothíriel, let me introduce Lieutenant Ésuthain, who will be your riding instructor from now on. Ésuthain, may I introduce you to Princess Lothíriel, my daughter."

The girl examined Ésuthain suspiciously. She detailed his wing-shaped helmet, the inspection-ready immaculate cape draped over his shoulders, the plate and mail shining in the afternoon sun, the sword belted at his hip and the blue shield emblazoned with the white swan and boat of Dol Amroth. She finished by very pointedly staring at his metal greaves for a long moment.

"You can't really be from Rohan!" she declared petulantly. "All the stories say that the Rohirrim have their own uniform and besides, there's no way you can ride bottled up like a tin can!"

Imrahil and Ésuthain shared a look and refrained from laughter with great effort –inadvertently insulting the princess by making fun of her childish comment would not be a good start for her riding lessons.

"My lady Princess," Ésuthain began politely while taking off his helmet. It revealed golden, curly hair, and grey-green eyes the colour of the sea. Lothíriel stared at him in wide-eyed shock and he smiled slightly. "While your assumption that I cannot ride to my full capabilities dressed in the armour of the Swan Knights is accurate, let me assure you that it will not impair my ability to give you riding lessons. You also seem to question my rightful Rohirric ancestry. It is true that my mother was a Gondorian – which allowed me entry into Prince Imrahil's army – but rest assured that my father is an authentic rider of Rohan."

Imrahil smiled benevolently, observing his daughter who slowly tried to regain her composure.

"Well, it's true that you have their hair," she stated without the expression of wounded pride Ésuthain had expected, "and I'm sorry I sounded like I questioned your ancestry. That's not what I meant – I just wanted to make real sure – I've been asking forever to be taught by a rider of Rohan!"

Ésuthain smiled and removed his gauntlet. "Well, then, my Lady Princess, it seems your father has found a way to grant your wish at last. From this day on, you will receive your riding lessons with a rider of Rohan. Shall we exchange a shake of hands to seal the deal?"

Lothíriel beamed happily at him and shook his hand vigorously.

ooooo

When Lothíriel left the courtyard, she held onto her nurse's hand and exuberantly told her how wonderful it would be to finally be taught how to ride. Prince Imrahil had sent her away under the pretext that she needed clothes more fitting for riding than her gown. Once the girl had disappeared from view, Prince Imrahil turned to his Swan Knight.

"Lieutenant, you understand that your assignment goes beyond riding lessons."

Ésuthain bowed his head.

"Of course, my Lord Prince. As a Swan Knight, I have pledged my life and my loyalty to Dol Amroth and Gondor. I shall watch over Princess Lothíriel and I will gladly lay down my life to defend her if it comes to that."

Imrahil sighed. "Thank you, Ésuthain, I know I can count on you, even though you are very young to have such responsibility bestowed upon you. She is only eleven years-old, but already so headstrong… I fear what she will demand a few years from now. Obviously her caprices will go further than requesting a riding instructor from Rohan." Something occurred to the Prince suddenly and he turned to his lieutenant. "Do not think that your father's origin is the only reason why I chose you to be her bodyguard of sorts. I have heard of your incredible skill with horses from Captain Serelir, and even Colonel Sarugîm noted your prowess at arms during the skirmish against wargs at Edhellond. I have complete trust in your ability to defend my daughter against danger; that you satisfy her fancy by having Rohirric ancestry is only better."

Ésuthain saluted, proud and flattered by his lord's compliments. "Thank you, my Lord Prince. I shall fulfill my duty to the best of my knowledge."

Prince Imrahil nodded. "Onto more pragmatic matters, now. What mount shall we give her?"

"I have already checked the royal stables, my Lord Prince, and there are no ponies that would fit her temperament. If you do not mind her riding a horse, I think Lapsana would be calm enough for a girl to ride, but Lothíriel appears a bit short to ride a sixteen hands mare yet."

Imrahil nodded pensively again. "Yes, I see your point. Besides, it might be a good starting point for Lothíriel to shop for her own pony and learn the costs to possess such an animal and the care it justifies."

"I agree, my Lord Prince. Shall I bring the Princess with me?"

"She would love the occasion to wander in the city, I am certain. Yes, bring her with you – but I suggest you bring reinforcements as well."

"Of course, my Lord Prince!" Ésuthain assured hurriedly. "I was not thinking of taking the Princess in the city streets without a complete escort!"

Imrahil smiled slyly. "I was rather thinking of her maid to help you handle her."

ooooo

"No, miss Sanriel, that riding skirt will not do," Ésuthain stated calmly.

He had witnessed earlier how the diminutive-looking woman could handle the turbulent princess and a few obstinate merchants, so he expected the surprisingly venomous glower the maid directed at him.

Lothíriel, even though obviously happy to have found herself an unforeseen ally in her battle against her maid's clothing requirements, did not provide much assistance. Actually, she threw oil in the flames.

"Ah! See, I told you!" she exclaimed, her arms crossed on her chest.

The Princess quieted hurriedly and lowered her eyes immediately when the maid glared sternly at her, before turning her fierce look back to Ésuthain.

"And what would you have her wear, Lieutenant?" Sanriel asked in a falsely sweet voice. "Pants like her older brothers, perhaps, to encourage the gossip about Prince Imrahil having four sons?"

In addition to guarding her mistress' cleanliness and virtue, it seemed the maid also had every intention to preserve her ward from gossip. Ésuthain was suddenly very conscious that he was only sixteen years-old and that the maid must be twice his age… and did she know how to be authoritarian! Still, Ésuthain was a lieutenant in his own right, and he could be stern when he needed to, but somehow he did not think throwing the maid into a cold stream would quite succeed in re-establishing discipline.

Sighing inwardly, he schooled his features into a mask of calm and disinterest.

"Prince Imrahil has asked me to take charge of Princess Lothíriel's riding lessons," he reminded in his flattest tone. "The first lesson a rider must learn is to have a proper seat so she will not be thrown from the saddle at the first misstep of her mount. I intend to show Princess Lothíriel what a proper seat is so she can ride without risk of injuring herself by falling down her pony. To learn that, she will need clothes that she will be comfortable and at ease in and, moreover, they must not force me to set the stirrups too high, as would the riding skirt you are proposing. Therefore, I will not allow Princess Lothíriel to ride with this skirt until she has a good enough seat to know the difference." He paused to let Sanriel fume in silence a few seconds. "I am sure we can come to an agreeable compromise," he finally stated. "The women of Rohan ride in pants, yet those pants look like skirts when the women stand – surely you would find that acceptable, miss Sanriel?"

The maid gave one grudging nod.

"My older sister learned to ride wearing those clothes," Ésuthain pushed on, taking advantage of being ahead. "My father would not have shown her how to ride with a Gondorian riding skirt. I am certain my mother still knows how to sew them. Perhaps you could arrange a meeting with her to get the pattern, so you can choose the fabric and the size at your leisure?"

The maid nodded more graciously this time – he had done right to let her some power of decision in the matter still.

He sighed inwardly again – onto the next battle.

"Now, about those shoes…"

"I told you!" Lothíriel perked up again. This time she was silenced by both Ésuthain's and Sanriel's glares.

"You are _not_ going to make her wear those ugly – brown – things – those boots!" Sanriel exclaimed indignantly.

Ésuthain sighed.

ooooo

It actually took over a week to arrange for Princess Lothíriel's first riding lesson. First, Ésuthain had explored Dol Amroth's horse fair to get an idea of what to look for. Then, it had taken a day to show all the suitable ponies to the princess. Ésuthain had extremely carefully avoided letting any cute but headstrong animal within her eyesight for fear it would strike her fancy and she would somehow force him to buy a too lively animal. After that, there had been two days of various negotiations between Lothíriel, her father, her aunt, her maid, her nurse and her mistress, and finally they had all agreed to call a meeting and asked Ésuthain himself to deliver his professional opinion on the matter: which pony was more suited for Lothíriel?

He had very carefully pointed out one animal: a small mix-bred pony of some rohirric ancestry by the name of Whitestar, sold by an old friend of his father at a modest price. Ésuthain had carefully pointed out that the animal was healthy, well-fed, well-shoed, calm and steady – all the arguments that convinced the adults to back his suggestion – while still luring Lothíriel with the promise that Whitestar was not a sleepy barrel-belly and was very willing to please his rider. Ésuthain concluded by relaying the positive comments his younger sister had given after trying Whitestar at her brother's request. At fourteen, she still weighed little enough to ride ponies, while possessing enough skill that she was in no danger even if she found herself on a turbulent mount.

Lothíriel stood straight, with her eyes shining with the prospect of wild races on the beach of the Bay of Belfalas, when he spoke of the pony's willingness. On the other hand, the adults were reassured that the animal was well-behaved. Once they were certain it would be him Lothíriel would set her heart on, thanks to Ésuthain's description of his well-toned musculature and spirit, they let the Princess choose which animal she desired.

Of course she chose Whitestar. So the next day, the Princess, her maid, her aunt and a full escort exited the castle and noisily descended to the lower part of the city where horse trade was conducted. Ésuthain, with a flair for horses and good deals, had already negotiated a price before the merchant saw him arrive in the company of an eager princess with little idea of the real value of things. The transaction was over in little time, though it left the merchant obviously unhappy not to have known before what exactly was at stake in the transaction – obviously the bargain could have been more in his favour if he had known Ésuthain was shopping for a princess' mount.

Lothíriel requested rather imperiously to ride her pony back up to the castle now that he was hers. Ésuthain was glad for Sanriel's presence. The maid succeeded in convincing the young girl that the pony would be unsettled by all the fuss and the strangers, and would more likely prefer to get used to his new masters without anyone riding on his back.

After that transaction, Ésuthain gave the pony a day of liberty in his paddock to get used to his new surroundings. Whitestar adapted with remarkable calm. Then, for four days Ésuthain supervised his sister who rode the pony to make sure he hid no nasty surprises.

And then came the morning of Princess Lothíriel's first riding lesson. For the occasion, Ésuthain had chosen a secluded paddock where Lothíriel would not be distracted and where nothing was likely to spook Whitestar. Even though it was early morning, the sun had already made good progress on transforming the world into a furnace. Ésuthain twirled his hair and stuffed it up under his hat to keep his neck cool. When Lothíriel arrived at the small enclosed space, Ésuthain was petting Whitestar affectionately, and had his back on the short path to the castle. He had been expecting her to come with a whole court of admirers – her brothers, her father, her maid, her aunt, and so on – so he did not pay attention to her lonely and quiet footsteps. He was startled by her indignant accusation.

"Amrothos! What are you doing petting MY pony!"

He whirled around, surprised. There stood, alone, the Princess of Dol Amroth. She wore the skirt-pants of Rohan in pearly white silk, along with a demure white shirt that buttoned at the collar, but had blessedly unadorned cuffs – he swore he would have torn off any lace that would have threatened to get entangled in the reins. She also wore very conventional riding boots, all brown and supposedly ugly that they were.

"Your Highness, it is I, Ésuthain."

She stared at him in open-mouthed shock in silence for two long seconds.

"Ésuthain! But you're not that young!"

An amused smile made its way onto his lips.

"I assure you that I am merely who I am, Your Highness. Why are you so surprised?"

"Where's your hair! And you've been hiding under your armour all that time! I thought you were old like my brother Elphir, not scrawny like Amrothos!"

At that moment, she seemed to realize what she had said, for she blushed and began to mumble hasty excuses. He could not repress a chuckle.

"No offence taken, Your Highness," he reassured her warmly. He beckoned her closer and she hesitantly approached. He crouched and put a hand on her shoulder to pull her close enough to put his hand to her hear and whisper conspiratorially, "Besides, it would be best for both of us if Amrothos never learned you think he's scrawny, and that I think it's a laughable matter."

She nodded gravely at him, and they both exploded in laughter.

* * *

_Many, many thanks to my wonderful beta Lialathuveril (if not for her, this story would be riddled with non-canonical events and ungracious stylistic mistakes!). You should go check her profile, her stories are great!_

_Note: for visibility's sake, I put Éomer's name up in the character category, and he will have an important role later in the story. But this is Lothiriel's story, and it will be a while before Éomer comes into her life.  
_


	2. A Ride on the Beach

_Note: a gelding is a male horse that has been castrated. On a different topic, for those interested by these details, by "horse dance" I refer to classic dressage._

_

* * *

_

_I. A Ride on the Beach_

Four years passed, and Lothíriel became an accomplished rider. At her maid's pressing remonstrations, she also learned to master the saddle wearing the riding skirts of Gondor, though she showed a notable preference for the skirt-pants of Rohan. Ésuthain instructed her for three years, and she grew in skill and confidence under his guidance.

Ésuthain also made her discover horse dance, convincing her father and brothers that she accompany them on a trip to Minas Tirith the summer of her fourteenth year. There she attended a demonstration of the art of the horse trainers of Gondor.

As he had foreseen, the carefully calculated and precisely executed figures of the horse dance completely fascinated the girl: the perfectly round circles, the effortless changes of lead during serpentines executed at collected canter, the play of crossing legs during passage.

Two months later, Lothíriel had a new gelding and trainer to take on her most recent hobby. However, she still took occasional riding lessons with Ésuthain, who concentrated more on the rider's seat and aids than on the horse's every move, so still had something worthwhile to teach her. He also remained the commander of her guard regardless of her riding trainer.

In those four years, he grew from a scrawny teenager into a man who really filled his armour instead of hiding under it, as Princess Lothíriel had put it so bluntly. He received much training and experience in combat and was promoted from Lieutenant to Captain.

Princess Lothíriel grew to disregard her father's orders forbidding rides in the countryside, insisting her horse loved them as much as she did – not that Ésuthain could blame her, but it was heavy responsibility for the young captain to ensure her safety under those circumstances. Her taste of clothes asserted itself and she started to exercise a strong discrimination in the choice of gowns her maid proposed. She began running the household of Dol Amroth with an iron hand, disregarding her aunt Ivriniel's advice more and more often – she made mistakes, of course, but overall she exerted competent leadership. Imposing her presence forcefully upon her father and brothers, she also included herself in many diplomatic missions throughout Gondor.

She metamorphosed from a girl to a young woman, with a headstrong mind of her own, that could not be quelled so easily by Sanriel's admonishments anymore.

ooooo

It was summer in Dol Amroth, but a cool sea breeze brushed away the worst of the scorching sun's heat. The afternoon was too hot to work a horse, so Princess Lothíriel opted for a relaxing ride on the beach instead.

The new horse she had bought especially for the dance was a big grey gelding that went by the name of Garranos. With his short legs and back, extremely strong neck and rather short stature, the horse did not please Ésuthain's eyes, used as he was to his own mount. Dulinéhar possessed the high stature and squat torso of the rohirric warhorses. However, even though Ésuthain favoured the Greys of Rohan, he admitted grudgingly that Garranos had a faultlessly soft gait in all circumstances, and he carefully and daintily watched where he put his hooves to avoid rocks and slippery algae when he walked on the beach. So Ésuthain trusted him to carry Princess Lothíriel safely.

Because Princess Lothíriel only planned a short ride on the beach under Dol Amroth, Ésuthain decided that the presence of a full escort was unnecessary. They would not go very far anyway, because they did not wish to risk being cut off by the tide. So Ésuthain rode alone with the princess, in the comfort of a tunic and riding leggings, with only a long sword belted at his hip. Doing small talk, they discussed the success of the present fishing season, while they walked their horses with water up to their knees. It was a way to muscle their legs, shoulders and hindquarters without all the stressful and repeated shocks of long-driven trot under a hellish sun. Garranos seemed to particularly appreciate the opportunity to stretch his neck at his leisure.

"The season's been extremely good for tuna this year, I hear," Ésuthain commented. Dropping some word about castle affairs never failed to get the princess going for lengthy periods of time with a minimal amount of contribution on his part.

"Yes, exceedingly," she immediately exclaimed enthusiastically. "An army of cooks is busy marinating and canning the tuna these days – the maids complain ceaselessly of the smell coming from the kitchens and the garbage, and even my gowns start to smell like fish left in the sun!"

Ésuthain snorted and Lothíriel knew him well enough to recognize it as a bit of vengeful amusement. "I'll ask Sanriel to have your gowns dry out farther from the kitchens, Your Highness."

"Oh, no, don't bother," she defended her maid. "I've caught her sniffing at the dresses in my closet with a distressed look on her face. I'm sure she does everything she can to have them dry as far as possible from the smell, but I swear, the castle's kitchen must diffuse the stench over all of Dol Amroth."

"I thought it was only my delicate nose, but I see my distaste is shared."

Predictably, Princess Lothíriel fired up. "Distaste! We'll see about your distaste this winter when you come back from another skirmish with orcs in Osgiliath or wargs in Ithilien! I swear you won't get any canned tuna but only bread and potatoes!"

He let the reins down on his horse's neck and lifted his hands in surrender. "My Lady Princess, I swear I only dared observe regarding my distaste for the fish-in-the-sun smell once you complained yourself. It would never cross my mind to whine to the cooks because they do what they must to keep my belly full this coming winter."

Lothíriel still felt belligerent, but after a while her expression mollified and she smiled. "You like to provoke me into those tirades, don't you," she accused good-naturedly.

"That is because I like to hear the conviction in your voice when you defend your people's well-being, Your Highness."

The compliment surprised her, especially coming from discreet Ésuthain. She blushed, her embarrassment compounded by the knowledge of blood rushing to her cheeks, and hastily averted her eyes. She nervously moved a lock of her long black hair out of her eyes to keep her hands busy.

"Thank you, Ésuthain."

They went on in silence a while, before Ésuthain rekindled the conversation with an inquiry about swordfish fishing. Lothíriel knew he only tried to make small talk, but she risked boring him to tears within minutes. Only a library rat of a councillor would be eager for a recitation of the fish catches of Dor-en-Ernil by species. Nevertheless, exposing the facts to someone who seemed interested in learning something rather than catching her in a mistake was extremely relaxing. So she selfishly took advantage of the fact that Ésuthain seemed in a listening mood, and expounded her worries about the low production of salt cod that would make winter difficult for the shepherds.

"Well, at least it sounds promising," he declared encouragingly, after she exposed her plan of trying to salt rockfish instead.

She flashed him a grateful smile. Emptying her heart out had helped to ease off part of the stressing weight of her responsibilities, and Ésuthain's unquestioning trust in her abilities as an administrator bolstered her confidence.

"And what of the mollusc season?" he asked again. "Are there many oysters and mussels to garnish the Prince's tables these days?"

"Oh, you know, shellfish never fails," she stated. "In fact, if there existed some way to conserve those, Dol Amroth would never have to fear hunger. There's plenty of mussels this year – just look at all them, on the rocks over there…"

Suddenly interrupting herself, she frowned; Garranos had stopped abruptly and snorted, glaring balefully at the water at his feet. Dulinéhar, looking curiously at the spot his companion glowered at, stopped reflexively, but Ésuthain pushed him forward a few steps to encourage Garranos to follow.

"Come on, big frightful baby, it's just a bit of algae moving with the waves," Lothíriel admonished her mount gently, patting his neck.

She shifted from the lazy seat of an outdoor trekker to the disciplined and tightly controlling posture of a dance rider. Then, framing Garranos with both legs and reins, she pushed him forward. Angrily he bobbed his head and even took a step back before Lothíriel snapped her heels against his ribs – not too strongly, merely in warning – to make him advance again. The horse did walk forward, but he tried dancing to the left, then right when Lothíriel pushed him back in line.

"Oh, come on!" Lothíriel exclaimed in frustration.

Finally he hopped forward with great resistance.

At that very moment, two things happened at once: Dulinéhar pricked his ears back – the signal Ésuthain had taught him to give as a warning – and Garranos neighed in pain. Eyes rolling in fear, Garranos strained against Lothíriel's hold on the reins, shying away and striking with both forelegs. Seawater splashed up to shower the two riders.

"A snake! It's a snake!" Lothíriel shrieked.

Ésuthain shifted in his saddle, back from a lazy outdoor trekker to a ready and tense cavalry rider, his sword at the ready in his hand. Teeth on edge because of Garranos' cries of panic and anguish, Ésuthain leaned down and frantically scanned the water. Splashes, sand and spume. He could see nothing but splashes, sand and spume. Dulinéhar was collected and ready, sensing his rider's trepidation.

Comfortable in skirt-pants, long legs stretched far down along her mount's flanks, Lothíriel did not empty her saddle, despite Garranos' wild strikes. Another shriek from the gelding made him grit his teeth, but Ésuthain suddenly spotted a twitching body in the troubled water. Triumphantly, he leaned down and cleft it in half with his sword.

Lothíriel, the first reflexive moment of fear mastered, took a breath to calm her heartbeat. Ésuthain extended a hand towards her to reassure her.

"There, it's dead, Your Highness," he said.

"Thank you, Ésuthain," she said with remarkable cool-headedness, even though shaken. "Sorry for screaming and risking unnerving the horses more than they already were."

He half-smiled; that she had the presence of mind to apologize entirely made up for it. "It's entirely understandable, my Lady Princess. Think nothing of it."

However, attentive as always to her mount's moods, Lothíriel only half listened. At first glance appearing calm again, the short dancing horse nevertheless still displayed many signs of distress. He clenched his jaw shut, opened his nostrils wide on quickened breath, and showed the white of his eyes in fear. Lothíriel had but a poor view of Garranos from his back, so she turned to her guard captain in anguish.

"Ésuthain, what's wrong with him?"

"Walk him out of the water – maybe he sprained one of his legs, striking with the forelegs like that."

Nodding worriedly, she encouraged her horse forward. Haltingly, Garranos attempted a few steps, putting little weight on his right foreleg.

"Poor baby, he obviously sprained something," Lothíriel noted sadly, patting his neck. "It'll be easier on him if I dismou –"

She never finished her sentence. She had already removed one foot from the stirrups to get down, but she hastily put it back on when Garranos reared violently. With a piercing shriek, he stumbled and struck with forward hooves. Once, then twice his forelegs trampled the sand, before he settled down exhaustedly, breath whooshing out of frothing nostrils. Her face pale with concern, Lothíriel caressed his neck soothingly.

With a brief lull in Garranos' sudden madness, Ésuthain was about to counsel Lothíriel to dismount. But without warning, Garranos' forelegs gave way. He tipped forward and fell head first in the water. An exclamation of surprise wrenched from her lips, Lothíriel instinctively leaned back in her saddle not to fly over his head. Garranos' neck split the water like the prow of a ship. He sunk below cold waters, dragging Lothíriel with him.

Icy water engulfed her legs. She had not even enough breath to scream. Then she crashed down on the right, and the waters closed over her head.

Garranos' full weight settled on her right angle and leg.

Her eyes opened wide of their own volition and she cried out in pain. Sand and salty water invaded her eyes and mouth – in a reflex she swallowed, but with her head below water, she choked. Straining up with an arm, her mouth barely managed to break the surface, and greedily she gulped in a breath and sputtered out some water, but the next wave rolled in and she nearly drowned again. Garranos jerked in haphazard convulsions. Crushing cold all around. Sand in her eyes. Lancing in her ankle. Flames in her lungs. Forces draining away…

Briefly Ésuthain lifted her shoulders so she could take a breath. Despite the sand and water in her ears, she caught a few words.

"… must move Garr…"

He let her go and she fell back in, alone and cold. Desperately, numbly, she tried to push herself up with a hand to get a breath when the next wave would come.

Brusquely she was free; she pushed up and her head surfaced between two waves. Sweet, sweet air rushed in her burning lungs. Ésuthain held Garranos' head over the water.

"Good boy!" the captain exclaimed with exuberant love, and impulsively he kissed the gelding's nose.

The horse had gathered enough strength, at Ésuthain's urging, to roll on his stomach and free her leg. However, convulsions still shook his neck and legs. Froth bubbled at his mouth, tainted with blood.

Gone from her mind, the cold and painful ankle.

"Garranos! What's wrong!"

Numb with the cold, she hastily moved to Garranos' head to snatch it from Ésuthain. Lovingly pushing her horse's forelock out of his eyes, she caressed his cheek with growing distress. His eyes rolled back in his skull and the muscles of his jaw contracted in painful spasms. She lifted a tear-streaked face to look at Ésuthain.

"Ésuthain! What's happening?" She sobbed. "What's wrong?"

The guard captain, drenched from head to toe in sandy seawater, sat helplessly by the side with his hair plastered to his head. He looked consternated.

"I don't know, Your Highness," he admitted. "He looks… poisoned." Ésuthain frowned and stood up to search the waters around them. Broken-hearted, Lothíriel cried and caressed her horse's head in her lap.

Inspecting the waters around them, Ésuthain could see little for all the sand that obscured it. However, he eventually spotted it, a black form rolling back and forth with the waves. He haltingly reached for it and retrieved it from the water – the serpent's body, cut open by his sword, but trampled by hooves beforehand. A big snake, it reached a length of three feet, two inches in diameter at its biggest. Black scales, interspersed on the flanks at regular intervals with red and yellow circles like malevolent eyes, covered its body.

A black reef snake.

The grim prize in his hand, Ésuthain turned to the princess. "Your horse has been bitten and poisoned, Your Highness," he announced in the blank voice of shock.

She identified the serpent at first glance and her tears redoubled. The black reef snake's poison acted quickly, killed infallibly, and could not be neutralized by any antidote.

"How? What is that serpent… that _monster_ doing so far north of the Bay of Belfalas? It hasn't been seen in Dol Amroth in my father's lifetime!"

Frantically she stroked her horse's neck, crying broken-heartedly.

"I have no idea, Your Highness," Ésuthain said sadly. "It must be lost."

Garranos' convulsions were slowing and quickly losing strength. Numbly Ésuthain walked back to the horse's side and fell to his knees next to the princess. Slowly he caressed the horse's neck in long soothing strokes.

"You fall proudly, Garranos," he whispered in Rohirric, tears stinging his own eyes. "You have saved your mistress from a mortal danger."

Lothíriel bent down and hugged Garranos' head. While Ésuthain watched with helpless consternation, the animal's respiration slowed, his convulsions calmed, until at last he was immobile and did not breathe anymore.

Ésuthain shook himself and stood up, noting with alarm the insidious effect of the cold water on him. He dropped a hand to the princess' shoulder.

"It is over, Princess Lothíriel," he said gently.

Angrily she batted his hand away and he allowed her a few more moments to weep over Garranos' head. Then he put his hand on her shoulder again.

"You have to get out of that cold water, Your Highness. Come – I'll make us a fire."

Reluctantly she put Garranos' head down, nearly choking on her tears when the gelding's head disappeared under a wave, and precipitously turned away from the sad sight of her dead mount. She extended a hand and Ésuthain took it to pull her up.

When she dropped back down in the water with a small exclamation of pain and surprise, Ésuthain cursed himself for a fool. Of course, after holding onto the saddle when her horse reared repeatedly, then almost drowning, then kneeling in the cold water for long minutes, excitement was draining away and left her weak with exhaustion.

"Let me help you, Your Highness," he said.

He knelt in the cold water next to her, put an arm around her shoulders and the other behind her knees, and he lifted her. She put her arms around his neck, let her head rest on his shoulder and, for a while, blocked out the existence of the outside world.


	3. Going Home

**_II. Going Home_**

With Lothíriel in his arms, Ésuthain jerked his head towards the land to gesture Dulinéhar, who still waited anxiously next to Garranos, to follow him. This part of the beach spread at the foot of hundred-foot tall cliffs. Dol Amroth was about a league and a half away – a short half-hour trot on horseback, but a full hour on foot, and the princess was obviously in no shape fit for such a trek right now. Thoughtfully sparing Lothíriel a further emotional ordeal, Ésuthain made his way to a big overturned tree half-buried in the sand; hopefully the obstacle would hide the distressing sight of the deceased horse to the princess while she rested. Dulinéhar followed him, affectionately nuzzling into the princess' hair as though to make sure she was unharmed.

Lothiriel's eyelids fluttered when he gently set her down behind the fallen tree, but she did not wake completely. Before he could attempt to get her back to the castle to have her foot examined, he would have to make a fire. She needed to warm up, and her clothes had to be dry for that to happen. But for now, Dulinéhar could provide much-needed warmth. Ésuthain gestured him closer and, after removing his saddle, ordered him to lay down. The cliff, the upturned tree and Dulinéhar formed a protected spot where the wind would not fly away with all their fire's heat.

Gently, Ésuthain moved the princess to sit against Dulinéhar's stomach. The horse instantly understood the responsibility he was charged with and remained immobile. Ésuthain crumpled his jacket under her head so she would be more comfortable. He watched her drenched clothes in consternation – for no other reason than to note how cold she would be, he reminded himself sternly – and looked around in search of anything dry and warm to wrap her in. The afternoon had been so hot that he had not carried a cloak, and he regretted it direly now. He fiercely promised himself that, from now on, hot summer or not, he would always carry a cloak in his saddlebag.

Sighing and hoping the princess would not mind, he unfolded the saddlecloth and tucked Lothíriel in it. She would smell of wet horse when she would wake, Ésuthain thought guiltily, but at least she would be warm, squeezed between Dulinéhar's stomach and his saddlecloth heated under the saddle.

After wiping the seawater from his sword and its hilt with a corner of his tunic, Ésuthain put the scabbard to dry on the trunk of the dead tree. He knew he should have rinsed the salt off his blade and out of the scabbard, but he dared not waste the precious water of his flask. Foraging near the shelter, he gathered dried algae and driftwood and used them as kindling and combustible to start a fire. After a few minutes, a merry fire sparkled near the sleeping princess, but the sea wind was kind enough to clear the smoke from the small enclosure formed by Dulinéhar's body and the cliff.

The captain then stood up and sternly instructed his horse not to move. He moved away from the makeshift shelter, looking askance up at the cliffs and out at sea, hoping to spot a herder or a fishing boat. If he could recruit a messenger, he would not have to move Lothíriel at all, and could simply wait for Dol Amroth to send a wain. Unfortunately, his hope was denied. He had walked some distance from Princess Lothíriel already, and he dared not leave her alone for too long, so he made his way back.

When his long-legged stride brought him back to the shelter, she was awake, and carefully pulling off her right boot.

"Glad to see you awake, Your Highness," he declared with relief. "Are you cold?"

Looking up at him, she attempted a brave smile.

"A little, but just because my clothes are still wet. Dulinéhar is a gentleman and lets the cold bundle that I am cuddle against his warm flank. Thank you for the fire, though. Just seeing it brings my spirits up a little."

"Good then, Your Highness. We'll let it burn until your clothes are dry and you feel ready to go back to the castle. Here, give me those boots, I'll squeeze the water out for you."

Her face contorted in pain, she pulled the boot farther down. Ésuthain knelt next to her with concern.

"Is your leg alright, Your Highness?"

When the boot came off, the sight of swollen blue flesh assaulted Ésuthain's eyes. She sighed resignedly.

"My leg is fine. My ankle, on the other hand… it looks sprained, doesn't it?"

"It does, but it might be broken too. My lady Princess, can I touch your ankle to examine your wound?"

She nodded a little nervously and he delicately ran the tip of his fingers on each side of her tibia; he had to press down a little to feel the bone through the swollen flesh. He knew from the way she held her breath that it pained her, but this could not be helped.

"Your tibia is whole, Your Highness," he announced with relief. "I will check the bones of your foot and ankle… I am sorry, but I think it will hurt."

She nodded determinedly. Pressing down on her swollen ankle, he quickly traced the shape of her foot's bones, starting just above the toes. To his relief, he found all the bones whole and in their rightful places.

He leaned back on his heels and smiled down at the princess. She was a little pale from the pain, but she had not complained.

"Your bones are all fine, Your Highness. It is merely a badly sprained ankle. If you allow me, I'll make you a bandage so your injured muscles and ligaments can rest?"

She nodded and he went though his saddle bags again. He returned to the princess with a sheepish look on his face. Seeing what he held, she laughed.

"Dulinéhar's saddlecloth, and now his bandages? Be careful, Ésuthain, he'll get jealous of me soon."

"As long as you don't steal his oats, I don't think he'll hold a grudge against you, Princess Lothíriel."

He deftly bandaged Lothíriel's ankle, tightly enough to limit the swelling without causing unnecessary pain. He then squeezed the water out of her boots as best he could and hung them on the upturned roots of the tree to dry. The princess rested, leaning against the warm flank of Dulinéhar.

"Would you like some water and something to eat, Your Highness?"

She nodded and he handed her his waterskin. She drank in long gulps; the salty water she had no doubt swallowed by force had made her thirsty. She then nibbled on some hard bread he had brought along as a snack – her daintier white bread and cheese in Garranos' saddlebags were obviously ruined by a dunk in the seawater.

Ésuthain left the princess alone a short while to tie Garranos' corpse to a big rock so the tide would not sweep him away. Once this grim business was taken care of, Ésuthain busied himself keeping the fire up and cleaning the salt off Dulinéhar's tack while the princess recuperated. It would not do to stare at a high-ranking noble in drenched clothes, and surprise at the discovery that the skinny girl he used to teach horseback riding to had grown womanly curves was no excuse. Forcefully turning his mind to more pragmatic manners, Ésuthain observed to himself that it also served to protect him from the cold despite his own drenched clothes. Once they were more or less dry, his clothes hung almost rigid from the salt permeating them, and they itched.

"I'm dry now, Ésuthain," the princess said then, "and more or less warm. I think we'd better start going back to the castle now if we want to be there before the tide comes in again."

"That's right, Your Highness, but I hope your father will get worried before then and will send a search party; I hope they'll bring a carriage so you won't have to tax your ankle too much."

She smiled bravely. "It's just a sprained ankle. I'll be fine."

Ésuthain helped her to sit up. At his command, Dulinéhar stood up, carefully avoiding stepping on the princess as he did so. Ésuthain saddled his horse and helped Lothíriel to her feet. Predictably, she could not put any weight at all on her right foot. There was no helping it; Ésuthain had to put his hands around that shapely waist to lift her up onto the saddle.

"I'll let you hold the reins, Your Highness, but you shouldn't have much to do. Dulinéhar will follow me."

With a consummate rider's tact, she let the reins loose on the warhorse's neck, judging it better not to interfere in Ésuthain's and Dulinéhar's relationship even if she sat in the master's saddle. Ésuthain, looking up at her sitting on top of his eighteen hands steed, thought she looked surprisingly small and vulnerable. Though the proportions were similar, she did not remind him of the first time she had clambered onto Whitestar's back. She was a young woman now, and did not remind him of a girl even on top of Dulinéhar's huge mass.

But what was wrong with him! This was Princess Lothíriel he was thinking about!

Shaking himself, Ésuthian abruptly started north towards the castle, and was very glad that they were turning their back on Garranos being slowly covered by the rising tide.

"We're not much farther than an hour's ride, Your Highness. Tell me if you tire, we'll stop and rest."

"Thank you, Ésuthain. I'm fine for now though."

Dulinéhar took his role very seriously and walked at a medium pace, his stride even and soft. He carefully picked his way on the beach to avoid stepping over rocks or floated wood.

"That warhorse of yours is really a gentleman, you know," the princess observed, amused.

Ésuthain smiled proudly and shrugged. "Not really, it's just that you've fed him enough apples that he cares about you, my Lady Princess."

She chuckled and they went on in silence. After a while, they stopped to give Lothíriel's ankle another dunk in the icy seawater to hold the swelling at bay.

"Ésuthain? Don't you worry that we'll get cut off by the tide?" she asked while sitting on a big rock and letting her right foot dangle in the seawater.

He sighed, standing a little further on the shore, his feet out of the water. He would step in again soon to help Lothíriel back onto Dulinéhar's back. "I know, Your Highness. Still, at this time of year, the tide never rises up enough to reach the cliffs here. It's further along that we could get caught."

"That's what I meant," she said. "I was speaking of the length of beach just below Dol Amroth's merchant quarter. Do you think we'll make it there quickly enough to pass it before the tide blocks our path?"

"Let's hope so, Your Highness. If we don't make it, we'll just have to climb to the woods' path that branches off towards the shepherds' pastures."

"That road is longer," Lothíriel observed. "Do you think we ought to try trotting a while?"

"No, Your Highness, you must not stress your ankle with the trot's rough moves. The woods' path is not too bad, even if we're forced to take it."

"All right."

He felt her relief; even though she suggested the trot, she had dreaded the inevitable pain it would cause in her ankle.

They walked on in silence, and Ésuthain checked back once in a while to make sure the young woman did not tire too much. She held on remarkably well. It was slow progress, though, and Ésuthain did not dare encourage Dulinéhar to walk faster for fear of hurting Lothíriel's ankle further. When they did reach the branching point between the beach path and the woods' path, the tide was dangerously high, though they could still risk the passage. Ésuthain turned to the princess; while still sitting straight in the saddle, she was pale from exertion. It was obvious she was in no state fit to trot or canter any length of time to outrun the waxing tide.

"It would be more prudent to take the woods' path, Your Highness. At most it will be half an hour longer, and your father's men should look for us there now that the tide is high."

She nodded tiredly and Ésuthain steered Dulinéhar towards the path on his right. A small ribbon of sand slithered between rocks and cracks in the stony cliffs, strewn here and there with thorny shrubs, broken and maimed by the violent sea wind. Even though Dulinéhar did his best to ascend at a regular pace, and Lothíriel did her best to help him by putting her weight forward over his shoulders, both the horse and the rider were tired at the end of the ascension.

Ésuthain stopped in the small clearing that marked the end of the cliff path. Dulinéhar frothed at the girth and breathed quickly, but the exercise had not exhausted him. The princess, on the other hand, was drenched in sweat and much too pale. She obviously needed to rest a moment.

"Let's rest a while, Your Highness. Move your left foot on this side; I'll help you down."

She groggily obeyed and Ésuthain helped her down the horse and onto the moss-covered ground. Having nothing better to keep her warm, he tucked her in with the saddlecloth. She would need a long moment of rest before she would be able to climb in the saddle again, so Ésuthain reasoned he could move forward on the path, in search of a shepherd or hunter that could lend them any assistance.

Unfortunately, he encountered nothing but a squirrel and a crow in nearly half an hour of search. Despondent, he went back to the small clearing where the princess still slept soundly. Dulinéhar stood protectively between her and Ésuthain, but the warhorse relaxed when he recognized his master.

Ésuthain saddled Dulinéhar, then woke the princess and lifted her onto the saddle, and they were off again. The wound and the prolonged pain were taking their toll and had obviously exhausted Lothíriel. Fortunately, they were not far from the castle now.

They were about half-way through the woods' path when they came upon a new obstacle. There a river rushed tumultuously down a crack in the cliffs to fall to the sea; a small wooden construction used to bridge it and allow the shepherds and their herds to cross the river. A recent gust of wind had felled an old red oak; the mighty tree had crashed down across the bridge and broken the beams supporting it on its east side. Half of the construction still held, though the oak rested atop it, with its still green leaves fluttering in the sea breeze.

Ésuthain sighed in despair. Fate was not on their side this day.

"I'm sorry, Your Highness. We'll have to cut across the wood and head up the river until we find another bridge or it gets shallow enough to risk the crossing."

"All right, Ésuthain. Let's just get it over with."

Riding cross-country would be much more taxing, but there was no other way. They could have gone back to the shore and waited for the tide to recede, but night would soon fall and Ésuthain wanted Lothíriel back at the castle as soon as possible to get her ankle treated.

Ésuthain started off into the woods, following the river. He did his best to break the branches that would be in the way of Dulinéhar and Lothíriel, but he could do nothing against the uneven path or the tree trunks and various holes to be stepped over.

Fortunately, they did not have to go upstream for more than some hundred yards before the river became considerably shallower and slower. Ésuthain noted with alarm that the princess grew paler and paler, and she staggered in the saddle when Dulinéhar briefly stumbled on wet moss.

"Ésuthain, I… I'm sorry… I'm too tired… I'll just fall off if Dulinéhar descends the riverbank."

The captain briefly considered his options. Cursing his luck, he reassured her gently.

"It's nothing to apologize over. You've already done much for a young lady with a sprained ankle. If… if you will accept such improper and lowly company as myself, we can ride double, my Lady Princess. I would keep you from falling down."

After the briefest of hesitations, she nodded once. She removed her left foot from the stirrup and slid forward in the saddle. Ésuthain moved Dulinéhar down a small dip in the ground to jump up on his back more easily. He put his foot in the free stirrup, gripped the seat of the saddle and swung up behind Lothíriel. He braced his thighs against the sides of the saddle to steady himself without stirrups, and put a hand on each of her arms.

"Ready?" he asked.

She nodded and he guided his horse with his calves. Dulinéhar slowly got down the riverbank. Ésuthain could feel Lothíriel's efforts to hold herself in the saddle by the tension in her shoulders, but she sagged limply against him nevertheless. He held both her arms firmly but gently.

"Don't worry, my Lady Princess. I hold you. I won't let you fall off."

Holding both of them firmly upright while Dulinéhar descended the steep riverbank proved an effort his thighs complained about. He had to use considerable strength to push Lothíriel's weight forward when Dulinéhar tilted up in his ascent of the opposite bank of the stream, but finally they found themselves on the other side.

"Ésuthain… I… I'm feeling faint…"

She leaned back against him alarmingly. Before she fainted, she managed to slide forward far enough to allow him to swing into the saddle. Ésuthain put his feet in the stirrups just in time to catch the princess before she tumbled headfirst over the steed's neck onto the unkind forest floor.

He slid an arm under her knees and the other around her shoulders. After much fight against her limp weight, he managed to lift her, put both her legs on the left side of the horse, and pull her against his chest. Carefully arranging both her legs over Dulinéhar's left shoulder, he made sure her ankle could move freely and with as little pain as possible. With his right arm around her shoulders to hold her securely, he took the reins in his free hand. He led Dulinéhar back towards the sea shore in the hopes of encountering the path they had left; getting lost in the woods at night was the last thing he desired.

Dulinéhar set off. The terrain was even enough and the underbrush clear enough that the warhorse needed no instructions from his rider to pick his way. Which left Ésuthain with nothing to do but to contemplate the young woman he held in his arms.

Even though still wrapped tightly in the saddlecloth, Ésuthain could nevertheless feel the heat of fever coming from her body. No doubt the cold and the shock had sickened her. Sighing, he found himself rubbing her shoulder reassuringly, before he caught himself and stopped. Being familiar with the unconscious princess of Dol Amroth could only put him in huge trouble.

He concentrated on the path and needlessly noted that Dulinéhar knew what he was doing and did not pick a wrong way once.

Finally, they emerged from the underbrush back onto the woods' path. Dulinéhar climbed back onto the small road and the princess stirred.

"We're close to your home now, my Lady Princess," Ésuthain reassured her. "Don't worry, I'll get you there safely."

She opened her green eyes to look at him briefly. It was the first time he had ever seen her face so close. She seemed lost in the fever, but she nodded.

"I know, Ésuthain," she whispered. "I trust you to."

And she put her arms around his neck, and she fainted back against his shoulder. He tried concentrating on the road, but there was even less for him to do here than in the woods. Dulinéhar needed no instructions to follow the road home; he eagerly made his way towards warm stables, a good rub down and fragrant oats.

Even though he knew it would do him no good, Ésuthain could not help but look down at Lothíriel. She was small and light, vulnerable in her abandon against his shoulder. The sweat of the fever made some of her hair stick to her forehead, and her short pointed nose glistened in the orange light of the setting sun. Her long black lashes rested against her cheeks. Despite all the courtly compliments aimed at her, if one was honest, she was not an amazingly beautiful woman. Too chiselled a jaw, too pointed a nose, too high a forehead. Still, that did not make her face disharmonious; Ésuthain thought it made her more elegant than beautiful. A glimpse, perhaps, of the stately and refined ruler she would no doubt become in a few decades. Even now, exhausted into unconsciousness, injured and sick, she was the image of royal elegance, with a dainty nose, high cheekbones and flawless alabaster skin. But she was more than a noblewoman, and she had an athlete's body to prove it. She had shown as much determination to go on despite her injury as any of the soldiers he commanded; yet, she had been raised a lady in the silk and velvet of nobility. Her strength of will was not something she had been taught; it was purely intrinsic, and aroused his admiration.

His face still flamed from improper thoughts, half an hour later, when he reached the castle's courtyard.


	4. Rumours and an interrogation

_Here, I feel I have to give an explanation for the lengthy delay. At work, we've been working on this huge and hugely difficult report for the past two months. All my days were spent on grammar, style, concision and clarity of redaction. When I got home after work, the simple sight of words on a computer screen was nearly enough to make me throw up. So I haven't read or worked on fanfiction in a good long while. I even needed a few days of Holidays vacation to get rid of the conditioned reflex of redaction–nausea._

_Apologies, and happy reading!_

_

* * *

_

**_III. Rumours and an interrogation_**

"My Lord Prince! Here they come!"

Amrothos turned around at the watcher's cry and ran up the small ladder to the battlements of Dol Amroth to watch over the stone walls. Even though the night had nearly fallen, squinting into some faint light left in the sky, he could make out a shadow in the shape of an approaching horse, which was big enough to be Dulinéhar. The steed obviously carried two riders, one being of the high stature of Ésuthain, and the other of the smallness of Lothíriel.

"Open the gates," Amrothos ordered.

One guard moved to open the gates, while six soldiers grouped on each side to guard it against anything that would use the occasion to slip inside. It took a few minutes for the horse to cross the open area before the gates and step over the drawbridge. Amrothos could recognize Ésuthain now, and could see the crushing weight of exhaustion in his features. Lothíriel, obviously unconscious, seemed to fare even worse.

Amrothos, with an effort, held back the flames of his fury at the thought of a man acting so familiarly with his beloved little sister. The man in question was trustworthy, so Amrothos withheld his judgement until Ésuthain had had a chance to explain himself.

"My Lord Prince," Ésuthain began, stopping his horse before his commander.

"Don't bother, Captain," Amrothos cut in gently. "I'm sure we'll be entirely satisfied with your explanations, but let's keep the lengthy interrogation for later. For now, let us take care of Lothíriel."

Ésuthain's features dissolved into grateful relief and he leaned down to hand the unconscious Lothíriel over to her brother. At the move she jerked awake and clutched at Ésuthain's tunic.

"Ésuthain, don't drop me!" she exclaimed frightfully.

"No, no, my Lady Princess, don't worry. Amrothos will hold you and take you to your room."

She turned to watch her brother groggily, and Amrothos managed to take her in his arms.

"You're burning with fever, my dear," he said.

"It's the cold water," she whispered before drifting off again.

Amrothos turned to a stable boy standing at the ready nearby. "Bring that horse to the royal stables and have him showered and rubbed down."

"Immediately, my Lord Prince!"

The boy took hold of the reins and Dulinéhar tiredly let the boy lead him away.

"Soldiers, Captain, come with me."

"Yes, my Lord Prince."

Amrothos turned away from the gates and walked to the castle. He entered by one of the doors used by the city guard and turned into one of the torch-lit corridors without hesitation. Smoke had darkened the white stone walls where the clinking of the armours of the five soldiers following Amrothos and Ésuthain resonated.

"So, tell me, what happened?"

Ésuthain sighed. "It's a deceivingly simple story, my Lord Prince. We were walking the horses in the water to muscle their legs, and Garranos was bitten by a black reef snake."

"A black reef snake! Are you certain?"

"I have no doubt, my Lord Prince. I have put its corpse in Garranos' saddlebags, so we might learn something by examining its hide."

"A black reef snake, here, at the North end of the Bay of Belfalas," the Prince repeated pensively. "Where was Garranos bitten? Did he die immediately?"

"He was bitten in the leg, but it took only a few minutes for the poison to overcome him. He reared from the pain a few times, so Princess Lothíriel did not have a chance to dismount, and then he fell because of the convulsions brought on by the poison. The princess' leg was caught under him for a few seconds. She almost drowned, but by some…"

"Drowned!"

"Yes, my Lord Prince. We were still in the water, and with her leg caught under Garranos, she could only take a breath between the waves. By some force of will and miracle she managed to take enough breaths to survive until I could make Garranos roll off her."

Amrothos grimaced in sympathy. "Poor dear, what a terrible experience. I see the bandage on her foot – is it injured?"

"Sprained ankle, my Lord Prince, as far as I could tell. That's why I risked making her ride the horse instead of just waiting for aid."

"Making _her_ ride the horse?" Amrothos corrected pointedly.

Ésuthain had the politeness to blush in embarrassment. "She showed remarkable strength, riding alone for nearly all the distance, my Lord. We had to climb the cliffs to the woods' path…"

"You missed the tide?" Amrothos understood instantly.

"Yes, my Lord. It's not before quarter of a league of cross-country and crossing the river that your sister required assistance riding…"

"Wait a minute… Cross-country?"

"Forgive me, my Lord, I am tired and I do not make a very organized description of our misadventure. The bridge over the Apple River had been broken down by a fallen tree, and we had to go upstream across the woods until we could cross the river safely."

"No wonder she couldn't ride alone anymore," Amrothos remarked. Those words, spoken by a Prince in presence of five witnesses, were equivalent to an amnesty. Ésuthain relaxed in relief at the unconditional pardon of his familiarity.

"What about you?" Amrothos asked after a moment. "No fever or sprained ankles?"

"I think not, my Lord, but I'm afraid I've caught my death of cold."

ooooo

When Lothíriel woke up again, the sun stood far up in the sky. Her weakness and thirst evidenced the fact that she had been unconscious for some time. Looking around her chambers, she could see nothing out of place except for her brother Amrothos slouched in a chair next to her bed, dozing off.

"Amrothos," she called gently.

Coming awake with a start, he smiled warmly at her. "Lothíriel, dear, you're awake!"

"More than even you, it seems."

A frown of concern on his forehead, he took her hand. "How are you feeling? Can I get you anything?"

"I'm not feeling too troublesome, in case you're worrying." She pointed to the water pitcher and glasses purposefully left on the nightstand next to her bed. "Some water would be nice."

Smiling, he served her a glass of water. He helped her to sit up in her bed and gave her the water to sip on.

"Garranos is dead," she declared in a subdued voice.

He nodded. "Ésuthain told me. I'm sorry; I know you liked him a lot."

She sniffed and shrugged. "I know, I know, it's just a horse. Still, I'll miss him… and I feel terrible for not listening to his warning and forcing him to walk straight on top of that snake."

"Garranos gave you a warning?"

Quickly wiping her eyes dry, she nodded. "He didn't want to walk forward, but I thought it was just a bit of algae floating with the waves… I didn't think it could be a snake at first."

Amrothos patted her hand. "You couldn't possibly have guessed, Lothíriel."

"I know. But still. He saved me, you know. He warned me, he was bitten instead of me, and then he trampled the snake to death."

"Father plans to arrange for a rohirric funeral for him because of that."

Lothíriel's tears welled up anew, this time in mingled sorrow and emotion. "Oh, that is so thoughtful of him."

Amrothos could see she quickly tired, so he cleared his throat and took her hand in both of his to catch her attention. He scrutinized her for a few seconds with his grey eyes, watching her every feature.

"Lothíriel, I'll leave you alone to eat something and rest in a few minutes, but right now I need to ask you something, and I need you to tell me the truth. Don't fear telling me anything – you know I love you and what you tell me will stay between us if that's your wish."

She nodded gravely, looking up at her older brother in some surprise. "Of course, I know I can confide in you, Amrothos. I know I can trust you with my secrets." She smiled slyly. "Not that I've had many to share recently, what with me becoming a real proper Lady and all."

A ghost of a smile crossed his lips, but was gone very quickly.

"My dear, I need to know… did Ésuthain touch you?"

She gave him a blank look for a second, and then her lips parted in an amused smile.

"Considering we rode double, the answer to that is rather obvious."

He rolled his eyes impatiently. "You know what I mean!"

Her smile faded somewhat. "Yes, I do. He didn't touch me in the way you imply; he just swung up behind me and held me in the saddle with his hands on my arms. After that, I think I fainted… all I remember is his arm around my shoulders keeping me from falling down the horse."

"So you weren't conscious all the time," he remarked suspiciously.

It was her turn to roll her eyes. "No, I was not, but his hands were busy enough just keeping me in the saddle that I have no worries. Come on, we both know Ésuthain is a gentleman. I'm embarrassed enough to have ridden double with him, don't embarrass me further by suggesting he could have done…"

"Fine," he cut in, "I get the message loud and clear. Don't worry, I won't be the one to tell Father about it, and the guards who've seen the two of you arriving aren't going to talk about it. You can count on me."

She smiled. "Thank you, Amrothos. But if anybody asks, tell them the truth; it will only be worse if I look like I'm trying to hide something."

He nodded with a crooked smile. "I'll leave the court matters to you, dear, and keep to my guards and patrols. Try to rest a while; I'll get a scullion to bring you some hot broth to warm you up."

She smiled and closed her eyes, breathing deeply as though she could already smell the delicious aroma of the soup.

"Thank you, Amrothos. Soup sounds marvellous, I'm ravenous."

He patted her hand a last time and left the room, leaving her alone with the mid-morning sun filtering through the heavy fabric of the blinds hanging against the high windows of her room. Her chambers had a view over the Bay of Belfalas, straight south at the ocean, over the chaos of alleys, rickety roofs and blazing awnings of the lower city. With the blinds closed, however, all Lothíriel could tell was that the day was bright and clear, probably as sunny and hot as the previous day, when she had decided for a walk on the beach.

Her heart missed a beat at the thought of Garranos felled by a black reef snake. He had suffered a painful agony, and she could not help but feel it was her fault for not believing in him when he had given her a warning. He was not a youngster or an easily frightened horse and he trusted her enough not to balk at a simple bit of algae. She should have listened to him.

Her tears fell down on the embroidery of the velvet coverlet, dotting its plush surface with dark spots. She watched the dance of the flakes of dust in the rays of light filtering between the blinds to distract her thoughts, and let their hypnotic movements drain away her sorrow and guilt.

It was some time before her thoughts drifted back to the day before and the harrowing ride back to the castle. She had never felt so tired and drained in her entire life. If not for Ésuthain's presence and confidence, she would have given up and waited her death or assistance unmoving by the side of the trail.

She remembered with a strange warmth creeping up her cheeks and body the compact shape of Ésuthain's torso when he had leaned forward against her to help Dulinéhar climb the riverbank. She pushed the thought away. What a ridiculous emotion to have; he was much older, and she was only his charge.

Yet, curiosity made her thoughts wander undisciplined back to the short while she had ridden double with him. She remembered the effortless strength of his arms while he had held her, could still feel the strong muscles of his chest shifting with each stride of his horse. Unsure if she had merely imagined it, she thought she remembered his large, cool hand rubbing her shoulder reassuringly.

And suddenly her thoughts scared her. Was she falling in love? With a guard captain? First off, she was too young to fall in love. Second off, she had a duty to her country; she didn't have the luxury of time and energy to delve into stupid feelings like some crush on a guard captain. Granted, the man was handsome. And strong. And charming. And intelligent. Still, it was no excuse.

Angry at herself, and still more than a little afraid, Lothíriel capriciously set herself an ultimatum. After all, those feelings were reputed to be extremely fickle. So she decreed that, if in six months her feelings for him had not changed, she would have to give them the name they deserved (it would become more than a crush, more like real love) and try and find out if they were shared.

Naively reassured, she sat back against her pillows and looked at the dancing dust in the light. Safe in her belief that everything would be fine in six months and that no more introspection would be necessary, she drifted off to sleep.


	5. The Ultimatum

**_IV. The Ultimatum_**

Because of the date she had set aside, Lothíriel did not spare much thought on her ill-defined yearning and her racing heart each time she crossed Ésuthain's path by chance. When she knew she would be meeting him, she could be well-prepared enough that her heart did not give away any sign of agitation. When she met him by chance, however, each time her heart raced up in an annoying display of emotion that Lothíriel neither understood nor desired.

She had decided that her crush on him would go away on its own before long. Then why did her heart suddenly transform into a frantic caged bird when she set eyes on him unexpectedly?

After two months of this unbearable tension, Lothíriel had lost hope that her heart and mind would ever be quiet again. Nevertheless, she could think of no way at all to relieve herself of her feelings, and even less to learn if they had any chance of being honestly returned. Not that it was Ésuthain's style, but she could imagine a number of men who would only be too happy to blackmail her if she declared feelings for them.

So she waited it out.

After another four months, the fated six months were over, and Lothíriel slowly sank into mild despair brought on by chronic unhappiness and denial of her feelings. Her father and brothers worried for her more lengthy silences, for her rarer moments of exuberant craziness, for the rigidly collected demeanour she plastered on her face more and more often.

Amrothos, the one person in this world she was closer to, tried to talk to her, but she remained mute to his inquiries about what made her unhappy.

After the disaster of Garranos' death, Ésuthain insisted on being backed by a full escort, for which Lothíriel felt strangely grateful and frustrated at the same time. Grateful because she could more easily act natural with him when they were in public, and frustrated because she could not help but desire some time alone in his company.

ooooo

Not only did Lothíriel suffer from her heart's irrationality, but so did Ésuthain. He found it increasingly difficult not to be hypnotized by the rhythmical move of her bosom – rising and falling, almost following the rhythm of quickened breath of a woman in a moment of passion – when she practiced her sitting trot. He had to calmly watch over her and accompany her when some young gondorian lord invited her for a ride in the countryside and showered her with flatteries. Ésuthain gritted his teeth every time with the frustrating unfairness of it. However, Ésuthain's reluctance to act on his feelings exceeded even Lothíriel's, so both remained greatly unhappy, but firmly apart from each other. The event that would set their destiny in motion was yet to come.

After six months of bereavement, Lothíriel began shopping for a new horse; even with Garranos' death, she determinedly refused to give up on horse dance. She eventually found a young mare who had been rejected by a circus because of her impressionable nature; the spectators' loud clapping and yelling easily spooked her. Going by the name of Sathil, she belonged to the prestigious breed of the Whites of Liezza and possessed the characteristics that made them outstanding dancers: great intelligence, a strong neck, a short back and uncommonly strong posteriors. Lothíriel trusted her riding skills enough not to be concerned by a mount's nervousness. Besides, the mare seemed to wish receiving as much affection as the princess craved to provide. So Lothíriel bought her and put her in a quiet paddock for a few days, so she could relax and get used to her new environment.

With her new horse in acclimatization period, she did not require Ésuthain's services, either for treks or riding lessons, so he had his days more or less to himself. He took a turn of guard on the walls to keep himself busy, but at the end of a wet and foggy winter day, he decided to take Dulinéhar out for a walk. The warhorse, with the inbred resistance of the rohirric horses to weather, did not suffer in the least from the mild winter of Dol Amroth. On the contrary, he grew such a long and thick coat that he sweated in the stables.

So Ésuthain rode out the castle quietly. The hooves of Dulinéhar trampled down the thin snow to mark the white mantle with hoof-shaped muddy spots. A relatively uncommon occurrence in Dol Amroth, the snow had fallen earlier in the day, and would be gone before the morrow. The captain set out by the western gate and crossed the orchards silently, his horse's breath losing itself in the whiteness of the mist surrounding them. The snow on the ground and the heavy mist in the air muted all sounds. Once past the orchards, Ésuthain headed straight north, up the hillside towards a clearing where a small stream ran; he planned to stop there for a while and let Dulinéhar drink before riding back down to the castle.

He heard the voices from some distance, and before they heard him; with warm clothes instead of his heavy plate, he rode almost silently. He heard two men exchange jokes and laughter. Even before he could make out the exact words, he could guess by their tone that the comments were unsavoury. A hint of something malicious drawled in their voices. Ésuthain silently rode towards them with the intention of finding out what mischief they were up to.

It was when he heard a woman's voice that alarm started ringing in his head. He slowly closed in, and suddenly he recognized Princess Lothíriel's voice. Alarm instantly transformed into blazing fury. He spurred Dulinéhar almost cruelly and the warhorse charged ahead in a surprised jolt, but quickly evened his strides when he understood that his master needed him to perform his duties of warhorse.

A red mist clouded Ésuthain's vision when he came within sight of the two men cornering Lothíriel between a fir and a fallen oak. The irruption of a huge warhorse from the mist froze them in surprise. Ésuthain charged up to them and he jumped down his horse at full gallop. In the grip of utter fury, he took the first man by the collar and pulled him roughly towards him.

He regained control of himself in that instant, watching the eyes of the man widening in fear. The man's mouth hung open in surprise, showing a row of rotten teeth. His unkempt beard and hair fell down to the middle of his chest in greasy locks, and he wore layer over layer of unwashed wool. He looked like a poor beggar. With a quick gesture, Ésuthain ordered Dulinéhar to guard the other thug. The warhorse menacingly flattened his ears and showed his teeth to the second man when he tried running off down the path.

"I am Captain Ésuthain of the Swan Knights of Dol Amroth," he declared sternly. "What is your name!"

The man he held by the collar had started to shake in fear. Ésuthain held his gaze with iron eyes, but inwardly he felt pity for the poor and uneducated man.

"P-please, sir –" he began.

Ésuthain shook him slightly. "Your name!", he barked.

From out of the corner of his eye, Ésuthain saw Lothíriel take half a step forwards and open her mouth to speak. With his free hand, he quickly gestured her to keep silence. She subsided.

"I-I be Gus, sir," the beggar answered. "And th-this be Kir."

"And what were you doing harassing a Lady of Gondor?" he shouted. "Do you even know _who_ she is?"

Gus' eyes darted to Lothíriel, as did Kir's; Dulinéhar shook his mane, snapped his teeth and pawed the ground to dissuade Kir from moving in her direction.

"This Lady here, who you've been thinking of molesting, is Princess Lothíriel of Dol Amroth, daughter of Prince Imrahil."

At those words Gus' weight settled limply in Ésuthain's right hand. The beggar's legs shook so badly that he would have fallen down if not for the captain holding him by the neck. Kir dropped to his hands and knees in front of the princess and wailed incoherent pleas.

"Do you realize how lucky you were that I stopped you before you've had time to do anything foolish?" Ésuthain hammered mercilessly.

"Yes!" Gus panted. "Yes, we be very very lucky! Please, m'lord, m'lady, have pity on us! We be no more than peasants! We wants a few coppers, nothing more! I swear, I swear!"

Ésuthain tossed the man to the ground in disgust and he joined his friend in kneeling and wailing. Lothíriel, tears in her eyes, crouched in front of them.

"Please, calm down," she repeated gently a few times. "Look at me. Look at me, please." Both men lifted dirty tear-streaked faces to her. "It is all right. In my authority as Princess of Dol Amroth, I grant the amnesty of Gondor upon you. You are free to go now, and need not fear justice for your actions this day. I will ask, however, that you remember my leniency and act with honour and honesty from now on."

"Yes, m'lady, yes! We be honest now!" Kir cried.

"We be honourful!" Gus added.

"Very good. I will give two coppers to each of you," Lothíriel announced.

"Thank you, m'lady!" the two beggars exclaimed together. "You be very kind!" Gus added. Ésuthain could hear a hint of intensely dislikeable greed in his voice.

"And there will be four coppers each week for both of you if you come to the castle of Dol Amroth and work in my father's stables," Lothíriel added.

"They not want to take us in, that be sure, m'lady," Kir protested. "They say we be bandits and useless men of the road."

"Then tell whoever it is that insults you that Princess Lothíriel told you to report to Angolcân for work. Angolcân, can you remember that name?"

"We can, m'lady," Gus assured. "Angolcân, it is, for work at the stables."

She took two coppers out of her purse. Ésuthain watched closely, his hand on the pommel of his sword, but the two beggars stayed prostrated on their hands and knees and did not attempt anything foolish. She took first Gus' hand and put two coppers in it, than did the same with Kir. Then she stood and regally walked past the two kneeling men towards Ésuthain.

"Captain, I did not expect to see you here today," she began conversationally, taking the path descending the hill towards the castle. Ésuthain strode protectively to the princess' side and motioned for Dulinéhar to follow him.

"Indeed, Your Highness. I wanted to give a walk to Dulinéhar after the end of my shift at the gates. I've not given him much exercise lately."

"I'll have to put Sathil to exercise seriously soon, so you should have a chance to train Dul as well."

He nodded curtly and they walked on in silence a while. The heavy and cold fog swallowed them and soon took them out of earshot of Gus and Kir.

Ésuthain put a hand to Lothíriel's shoulder to halt her. "Are you all right, Your Highness? You have carried on with tremendous composure, but it must have been a horrendous experience nevertheless."

He scrutinized her face closely. He could feel her shaking slightly, and she averted her eyes and shrugged.

"It was not that bad, Ésuthain. All they wanted was money. I was scared, of course, but I had already determined that all they were after was my purse."

He wanted to take her chin and tilt her head up so he could look at her face, but he could not be so familiar with a princess, so he simply pressed her shoulder gently.

"It is perfectly natural to be afraid, Your Highness."

She looked up to him with a pale smile. Reassured that she felt better, he decided he could let free rein to his worry and anger now. He crossed his arms on his chest, straightened his back to better tower above her and glowered at her with all his fury and frustration and fear.

"But WHAT in the name of the Valar were you thinking walking up here without a proper escort?" He did not _quite_ yell, but he did speak loudly nevertheless. He had never spoken to a princess in this way before, but somehow fear for his position of captain did not cross his mind. His anger and worry ran too high to even let him consider it. "I would have come with you, even if your _caprice_ occurred to you on too short a notice to gather a full escort! Are you trying to get killed? Or better yet, raped?" Her eyes widened in shock at his brutal choice of words. It somehow heated his anger to white-hot instead of mollifying him. "What, have you never heard the word, my Lady Princess? Well, maybe those brothers of yours ought to have educated you in some things! Do you have any idea what kind of highwaymen you could encounter on a road such as this?"

She looked away quickly, but he could see tears well up in her eyes. His anger deflated instantly and he cursed himself for a fool. She had been through a bad enough ordeal already; she had no need to be yelled at on top of it. Still, knowing how stubborn she could be, he did not feel overly guilty for roughing her up slightly. Maybe the fear combined with his speech would manage to get the message through her thick skull.

Nevertheless, one lowly guard did not speak to a princess that way, so he searched for the proper words to apologize. It would have been easier to concentrate if he did not have to fight off the stupid desire to take her in his arms and wipe her tears and hold her until she did not cry anymore.

"I am sorry," she apologized, "I should have thought of the consequences when I came for a walk alone up here. I should have thought that I would put you in trouble if anything happened to me. Please forgive my carelessness and rest assured that it will not happen again. I'm sorry… I just wished to be alone… really alone… for a while… without the maids, without my aunt, without my brothers and father constantly pestering me, without guards watching my every move… I'm sorry, Captain. As I told you, it will not happen again."

He swallowed with difficulty. The tears in her voice were even harder to bear than those in her eyes. "Fair enough, Your Highness," he ground out gruffly.

"It's really foolish, I know. All I wanted was to be alone. And then, when I finally was, all I wanted was for you to show up so I could be safe again."

That statement was too much. He moved before he had a chance to stop himself. He nevertheless managed to stop just short of taking her in his arms. He took hold of her shoulder again and pressed it sympathetically.

She sobbed a few times. "Don't worry, Captain, the slap in the face has been brutal enough. I've learned my lesson."

"Please forgive my harsh words, my Lady Princess. I had no right to yell at you, especially not after what you've been through. I beg your indulgence."

She laughed and sniffed a bit and started walking the path. "Oh, I don't think I'm prouder of this incident than you are. If you're discreet about this, I promise I will be too."

He smiled crookedly at her. "You have a deal, Your Highness. Would you like to ride Dul? I think I should let my gentleman of a warhorse do the apologies for me; he seems much better at it than I am."

She smiled. "My legs are feeling a bit faint, yes. It is most kind of you – and him – to offer."

He took her foot and swung her up in the saddle. She let the reins loose on Dulinéhar's neck and the steed followed his master back to the castle.


	6. No Dangerous Exposures

**_V. No Dangerous Exposures_**

Thanks to his position of Captain, Ésuthain enjoyed the privilege of relative luxury. He shared his room with only one other man, a captain whose duties were to watch the gates to control merchandise and assure Prince Imrahil that no weapons made their way into the city without his knowledge. Even though bearing heavy responsibilities, Ésuthain's bunkmate had a few earthly flaws, among which snoring.

That fateful night, Ésuthain lay awake tossing around in his bed, amidst the snores of his roommate. The afternoon's scene played again and again behind his closed eyelids. How very close he had come to losing control and snapping Gus' neck in sheer fury. How he had almost kissed Lothíriel, instead of yelling at her, to vent off his worry for her. How so very, dangerously close he had come to taking her in his arms to dry her tears away, when she said he made her feel safe.

Being her bodyguard was quickly becoming a perilous occupation. So far he had managed to keep up the façade with remarkable success. No one so much as suspected anything, not even his family. Even though the weight of secret was great, no hint of his feelings for the princess had transpired. But with each day spent in her company, he came closer to reveal something. Not only would it jeopardize his career as a soldier of Gondor, but it could endanger Lothíriel as well, with gossip that threatened her reputation and possibilities for a favourable and hopefully happy marriage.

Ésuthain urgently needed to change assignations, and without making it seem as though he wanted to get away from the princess. With her usual stubbornness, she would ask embarrassing questions if she somehow learned that _he_ had desired a change of duties.

He rolled over again in his bed to face the wall opposite his bunkmate. Gathering fistfuls of the woollen covers in his clenched hands, he shed a few tears at the unfairness of love. The volume of one man's snores drowned out the faint sobs of the other.

ooooo

It was three days before Ésuthain saw Lothíriel again. She, as well as her father and brothers, had been occupied by an altercation between two barons. Lothíriel had helped settle their territorial dispute, working ceaselessly in the company of cartographers and diplomats to smooth things between the two landlords.

Once dust settled over the incident, Ésuthain predictably received summons. He had been expecting it; the princess would like a ride to forget about the stressful last few days.

As usual, Lothíriel had beaten Ésuthain to the royal stables and she stood by the doors exchanging words with a stable boy Ésuthain recognized with a jolt of surprise: Kir! With less hair and beard, and the livery of the stable employees, but clearly recognizable nevertheless. Curious, Ésuthain walked over. When he approached, the reformed highwayman glanced at him, then stared and fairly cowered.

"Kir, I trust you remember Captain Ésuthain?" Lothíriel put in smoothly, her tone gentle and reassuring.

"Y-yes, Your Highness, I remember. Captain." He saluted shakily.

"Kir was just telling me how he settles in at his new job."

Deciding that he had looked menacing for long enough for the warning to register, Ésuthain relaxed his posture. "Well, I hope?" After a silent nod from Kir, Ésuthain added, "It is good to see you have found an honest occupation. Is your friend Gus nearby?"

Kir reddened, scratched his cheek and looked away. "No, sir. He didn' wanta come. Too hard work, he said. Like the road better. Lazy scum. Oh, beggin' your pardon, Your Highness."

Lothíriel chuckled. "It is quite all right, Kir. Now, if you'll excuse us?"

"Uh, sure, Your Highness. Uh, captain."

Once they had walked some distance away, Ésuthain commented slyly, "He's not done learning the proper salutations yet, is he?"

The princess collapsed into a fit of giggles, which she did her best to keep hidden for the sake of Kir's dignity, and Ésuthain had to look away and repress a sigh. He had known she would laugh; what was he thinking, willingly making her appear so adorable?

"I thought we could go for a walk up the Devil's Spine," she suggested once she had regained her composure. "I need to see what Sathil is capable of, and you were complaining about Dul's training earlier this week. So, do you approve of my itinerary?"

The Devil's Spine, a very narrow and rocky trail, climbed up the steep side of the rocky outcrop which overlooked the sea a league north of the castle of Dol Amroth. An excellent exercise in cardiovascular capacity for horses, it also provided muscular exercises for riders who had to use their abdominals and thigh adductors to keep a good seat despite the slope.

Ésuthain forced a smile and tried to act natural. "I approve, Your Highness. That should exercise Sathil and Dul properly and it will be excellent for us as well."

Despite winter's claws still fast over Dol Amroth, a comfortably warm sun shone in the cloudless sky. The snow of the last days had melted and turned the more frequented paths into deep, dirty and cold mud baths. Even though the mild weather in the courtyard led to believe the ride would be comfortable, Ésuthain did bring along a cloak. He knew from experience that the winds would be cold and biting on the Devil's Spine, once beyond the crest of the hill, on the side exposed to the sea winds. Princess Lothíriel had also taken along a cape, to put over the warm mantle of royal blue wool she already wore.

Without further words, the two of them mounted and started off at a walk. Ésuthain went first, Dulinéhar watchfully inspecting every bush they passed by to ensure it hid no bandit. They silently progressed until they nearly reached the crest of the hill, where they paused to put on their warmer clothes. Lothíriel put on her velvet cape over her mantle to ward off the wind, and Ésuthain rolled up tighter in his cloak. They went on in silence for the other half of the journey, where the trail started to climb steeper. Soon they were panting in time with their horses, straining with all their tired thighs and abdominals to keep an upright seat on their mounts as they ascended the abrupt path.

The top of the peak offered terrible winds and a breathtaking view of the tumultuous sea. Grey with only the blue sky over it, the Bay of Belfalas stretched before Lothíriel and Ésuthain. White surf ran on top of every wave. Both dismounted and looked out silently at the sea for a few moments. The horses, more pragmatic, turned tail to the wind and huddled side by side to try and keep warm. Ésuthain unsaddled them both and covered them with warm wool covers. With their winter coat drenched with the sweat of the climb, the two horses could catch their death of cold if they were not tended to. Dulinéhar nuzzled his master's chest affectionately when the warm wool dropped on his back. Ésuthain smiled at his warhorse turned pet and scratched his neck affectionately.

During war time, and during the years of numerous raids from the Corsairs of Umbar, a few soldiers of Dol Amroth were sent to the Devil's Spine to keep watch over the sea. Over time, they had built a small wall of stone, about two feet high, to provide cover from the biting wind. To call it a rickety construction would be flattery, and it had been grown over by lichen and moss, but it nevertheless furnished much appreciated protection from the icy gusts of sea breeze. Princess Lothíriel had made her way to it and had sat at its feet on her saddlecloth, gracefully folding her legs under her and smoothing the silk of her skirt-pants around her.

Seeing her sitting there, her slim waist accentuated by the way her skirt-pants flared around her, Ésuthain decided that it was much, much wiser to find something to do around the horses. He busied himself picking up each of Dulinéhar's hooves and checking them for stones, removed his steed's cover and rubbed him down with a braided fist of hay he kept in his saddlebags, and then he treated Sathil to the same. The mare, although much calmer than on her first day in Dol Amroth's paddock, still shivered anxiously at being handled by his unfamiliar hands. He petted her to reassure her and he spent more time at it than strictly necessary, in an attempt to avoid looking Lothíriel's way.

In the end, he really could not pretend to be busy anymore, so he turned to the princess. She had not moved, and did not show any intention of doing so any time soon. Even though the words burned his lips, he refrained from exclaiming something of the kind "Well, Your Highness, we're all ready to go!". That would be plain rude. Lothíriel was the one who had wanted a ride, not the other way around. Trying not to shift from foot to foot, he watched her and tried to determine if she was likely to be ready to go back any time soon.

She had been looking away at the shore on her right, but looked up to him and said, rising her voice against the wind, "Could I speak with you, Ésuthain?"

"Of course, Your Highness." He made his way closer so she did not have to scream over to him. Wearing his full plate of Swan Knight, he could not really sit next to her, so he knelt not far from her, ducking his head to take shelter under the wall of stone. He noticed that Lothíriel appeared embarrassed, and it alarmed him in some measure. Her next words confirmed that his instincts were not mistaken.

"Amrothos came to see me yesterday morning. He said you went to him and requested to be reassigned. He said you asked it to be done discreetly, so it would not look to me like you had chosen it."

Ésuthain silently cursed Amrothos, but immediately his anger shifted to a closer culprit. What had he been thinking, trusting Prince Amrothos with something of the kind? He should have known the prince would tell everything to his sister; the two of them were close.

"I must tell you that he was very reticent to break your confidence," Lothíriel added, "but he is very close to me, and he felt he must tell me. He said he had the feeling I had done something that made you desire to leave, and he knew I would want to settle it with you. So here we are. Is it because of what happened with Gus and Kir? I know it could have reflected very badly on you if anything had happened to me, but I swore I would not get out of Dol Amroth alone again, and you know I meant it. Are you really that upset with me because of that?"

In a flash, he realized it was the easy way out. No dangerous exposures. She offered him the best excuse on a silver platter. A sick feeling in his stomach, he proceeded to lie to her.

"Well, to be frank, Your Highness, yes. I have worked extremely hard to become a captain in your father's army, and I don't want to risk it on any more of your caprices. A Lady like you, born in silk and velvet, would not know what it is to fear for your position and to rise only by the will of those of noble blood. I want my career to work out smoothly and I can't be sure of that as long as I serve you. Last week it was a walk alone out of the orchards at the mercy of highwaymen. The week before that, it was the risky trek in the bowels of that sea cave just before high tide. The month before, it was the improvised race on unchecked ground. I won't put up with anymore of it, Your Highness."

Her grey eyes filled with tears even as they hardened with anger.

"You are lying to me, Ésuthain," she stated furiously, her voice rising with each word. "Last week when you snapped at me just after we left Gus and Kir, _there_ was honesty! Your anger was so out of control that if you _really_ had been so furious with me for all those things you've just mentioned, you would have brought them all up and rubbed my face in it! You're just making it up now because it suits you, and all cowardly you've been trying to leave my service secretly, and now that I've found out you won't even offer the honesty of telling me why! If you really want to change duties, then fine!" She shot to her feet, cheeks flushed red with fury. Writhing like hissing serpents, a few loose locks of her black hair beat around her face in the unkind wind. Ésuthain followed to his feet, unsure if he wanted to give her an opportunity to slap him or if he feared she would dart away, jump on Sathil bareback and break her neck galloping wildly down the Devil's Spine. "I won't shackle you to my saddle, you know!" she exclaimed, incensed. "If you don't like serving me, it's your strict right! I considered you a friend until now, so I won't even give a bad report to my father! You have my benediction to go be cowardly elsewhere!"

The word "friend" and her refusal to denounce his schemes undid him. She might have had more to say, but he cut her off. Taking an unplanned and hasty step forward, he caught her flushed face between his hands and more roughly than he should have he kissed her on the lips. He felt her breath halt in her chest and he hastily released her. His laboured breath sounded husky in his ears and his armour felt like a heavy and awkward cage. Lothíriel, a look of utter shock on her features, had brought her hand up and rested her fingertips gingerly on her lips. More doom crashed down on Ésuthain's head; he had bruised her lips on top of it.

"There you have it, my Lady Princess, the honesty you wanted," he whispered. Her hand slowly fell down from her lips. He felt dizzy; from the brief forbidden kiss, from what more had flashed through his mind in the instant before he released her, and from the death he had just sentenced himself to. "I can never apologize properly for daring to touch you so. Please forgive me for trying to secretly arrange to leave your service. You have done nothing to deserve it. I am the only one at fault here, and I will gladly submit to your father's judgement…"

More of her black hair escaped her bun when she shook her head. Watching her hair snaking up in the air, he thought that he should die now, jump off the cliff on the other side of the Devil's Spine and die to that image.

Taking a small tentative step in his direction, she put her fingertips to his lips to silence him. Then removing her fingers, stretching on tiptoe, she planted a soft, soft kiss on his lips.

He was beyond resistance. She was beyond disbelief. Breathing quickly again, he circled her waist in his arms and snaked one hand up her back to bury it in her hair. When her lips parted under his, even before he made an attempt in that direction, he came undone. Roughly pulling her against him, wishing there was nothing between their skins but a sheen of sweat, he deepened the kiss. Her lips opened willingly and their tongues met for the first time in an erotic dance. She gripped the collar of his armour to steady herself on tiptoe. Her kiss, although inexperienced, held boundless passion that he could not help but answer to. Tightening his hold on her hair, his other hand moved farther down. She moaned lightly into his mouth. A small but evocative sound.

He drew away to take heavy, laboured breaths. Looking down at Lothíriel leaning against him, he could see her cleavage, framed by her cape, clasped on her chest with heavy brass brooches. Her bosom rose and fell quickly with her heightened breath. Standing so close, he could see the goose bumps rise on her perfect white skin. He could imagine the roundness of her breasts if they were let loose of her riding tunic, and the tautness of her nipples. _I want you_, he wanted to admit.

"Princess Lothíriel, this is unwise," he said instead. He forcefully pried his hands away from her, but she held onto his shoulders.

"I don't care! And if you don't stop throwing titles at me when we're in private, I swear I will slap you."

Even though he ought to have been exasperated, he could not help but laugh.

"Very well. Lothíriel." The name rolled on his tongue, sweet and delicious like honey.

They remained tightly embraced, just looking into each other's eyes.

"How are we going to keep seeing each other like this?" she asked. In that instant, holding her in his arms on top of a wind-beaten peak, he realized he could not give her up. Reason dictated that they were not meant to be together, and if anyone ever saw them, they would both be in for a world of trouble. But in that instant, in that brief moment when she asked how they could manage to keep it a secret, even though he should have told her that it would be better if they had no secret at all, instead he kissed her again, and her passionate response snared him further into his unreasonable determination not to let her go.

"I'm your bodyguard, Lothíriel. No one questions when we go riding alone. We will have to be very careful to act casual and not to see each other too often, but no one need ever know."

Some distant part of his mind could not be fooled by his confident words; reality would catch up with them sooner or later. Someone might see them, or she might grow old enough to be remarked by a powerful lord with a son to marry. He disregarded it with all the strength of his heart.

Oblivious to his worrisome thoughts, Lothíriel nodded. "I am a princess; I've been brought up to be gracious and composed in all circumstances. I'm sure I can manage not to let us be noticed."

He smiled slightly, his stomach unsettled by the thrill of her embrace and the danger of the forbidden. And he kissed her again.


	7. Grim Reality

_**VI. Grim Reality**_

It took them some time, but at length they extracted themselves from each other's embrace – aided by the biting wind they were unprotected from, standing as they were to better hold each other – and made their way back to the castle. Because they both knew Amrothos would wait anxiously for them at the gates, they made up their explanation for Ésuthain's behaviour on the way back.

Lothíriel had not exaggerated when she had stated that she could be composed under all circumstances. When they arrived at Dol Amroth, she waved happily to her brother watching them from the top of the battlements.

"It's all right now, Am!" she exclaimed. While Amrothos got down to the courtyard, she dismounted and a groom took hold of her horse's reins. Ésuthain followed suit more slowly. Taking hold of his arm just like she had done since she was eleven years-old, she led him towards her garden, followed by a beaming Amrothos.

Lothíriel and her brother sat on a small marble bench near a fountain, while Ésuthain stood not far from them, watching out the garden out of habit. The fountain's water had been stilled by the cold of winter and the usually luxuriant flowering trees that adorned its side only displayed naked brown twigs.

"I think Ésuthain's still a little mad at you," Lothíriel began happily, smiling wryly at the captain, "but he agrees that it was better that we talked, so I think he'll forgive you, eventually."

"I do beg your forgiveness, Ésuthain," Amrothos apologized contritely. "It just seemed wrong to change your duties without telling Loth."

Ésuthain forced a smile despite his slight anger and his petrifying nervousness. "It is just like Her Highness said. You were right to think it was better that we talked, so I do not hold it against you to have broken my confidence. I dare hope that you will treat my next request for discretion more seriously, however."

Amrothos grinned. "Sure, Ésuthain. So, what was the fuss about?"

"Well, it was my fault, really," Lothíriel admitted with remarkably well-feigned and well-dosed regret. "Last week, I went for a walk alone by the orchards' path."

"Alone?" Amrothos repeated, glancing at Ésuthain.

"Her Highness did not inform me of her plans," the captain explained tartly.

"No, I did not… I very much wanted to be alone for a moment, and I thought a walk could not hurt."

Her brother watched her with gut-wrenching worry. "Nothing happened, did it, dear?"

She shook her head. "No. But two beggars accosted me on the road. They threatened me and asked for my money. Ésuthain happened to take the same road by chance and he stopped them before they could even rob me."

Amrothos played right into her hands. He glared at her, incensed. "But what were you thinking!" he exclaimed loudly. "Much worse could have happened!"

She smiled. "Ésuthain's reaction exactly, although if I may say so, he was much more _wordy_ in his remonstrance."

"The blunt truth is that I completely lost my temper and dared yell at Her Highness," Ésuthain confessed.

"So neither he nor I were very proud of what happened that day. Since nothing bad had happened, we decided not to… _publicize_ the incident."

Amrothos smiled crookedly to Ésuthain. "Is that it? The next request for discretion you wish taken more seriously?"

Ésuthain grinned back, a little more naturally than at the beginning. "Yes, that would be it."

"So I thought the incident behind us," Lothíriel carried on. "But I had not thought about the trouble I could cause for Ésuthain if anything happened to me. With his betrothed, he can't afford…"

"A betrothed? Ésuthain!" Amrothos jumped to his feet to slap the other man on the back joyfully. "Congratulations! Why didn't you tell us anything?"

The captain shrugged uncomfortably. "It did not seem relevant to tell a prince – or a princess – that I had fallen in love."

Knowing better than stretching Ésuthain's poor talents for acting, Lothíriel immediately brought her brother's attention back on herself. "So, as I was saying, with his betrothed, Ésuthain cannot afford to risk his position of captain on my account. He felt my caprices were becoming dangerous for me as well as for him, so he tried to find a safer post somewhere else. Now that I've promised to be a good girl, he agreed to stay in my service."

"Yes, Your Highness." He knew he should say something else, tease Lothíriel or something, but all he could do was blush and stay silent.

Amrothos, however, did not seem to notice anything amiss and smiled at the two of them. "Well, I'm glad you've worked it out. You were so glum around each other for the past few days, we all thought something bad had happened. So tell me, Ésuthain, who is she?"

The Captain, less at ease than Lothíriel when it came to acting, shrugged and recited the story he had made up with Lothíriel on the way. "She is a maid in Minas Tirith; I met her last summer in Linhir. Her mistress is the wife of a spice merchant we had been escorting. I did not see her since last summer, but if I can provide for her, she might move here next fall, after the busy spice season."

"Good news!" Amrothos exclaimed.

Neither Amrothos nor anyone else ever questioned again what had happened. Ésuthain kept the complete trust of Lothíriel's father and brothers regarding his honourable defence of the princess.

ooooo

Ésuthain had judged Lothíriel's perfect composure correctly, but had greatly underestimated the difficulty of being in her presence and forced to act naturally. She tended to center people's attention on herself, so he had little acting or hiding to do, but still, it was difficult.

Prudently, Lothíriel waited a week before she went out alone with him again. This time, she chose a long sheltered ride in the woods to the southeast of the castle. A little impatiently, Ésuthain decided not to wear his armour for that ride.

In the following weeks, they set up a precise schedule. Lothíriel judged a well-known and easily predictable table of activities would raise less suspicion. She attended to the castle affairs in afternoons and nights. Every other morning, she took lessons with Sathil and her dance trainer. The other mornings, she trained her horse alone and, once a week, she went for a ride with Ésuthain. Occasionally, she read in the garden, and sometimes he followed her there too, and they could hide between the high secretive hedges. However, the two of them did not like the garden much; they judged it a risky meeting place, with all the people walking around and possibly overhearing them.

Winter slowly gave way to spring, and no one seemed to notice anything. One warm day of early summer, Lothíriel suggested a ride on the beach below the castle. So, two hours south of the castle, Lothíriel and Ésuthain found themselves lying on the sand together, between two outcropping of rocks that hid them from prying eyes. They let Sathil and Dulinéhar graze on the sea lime-grass not far from them.

Lothíriel and Ésuthain had grown familiar with each other over the months, even if they were alone together only once a week on their private ride. Lothíriel was not shy at all about lying down next to him anymore. On the contrary, she pressed into him eagerly, running her hand possessively up and down his chest. The sun shone high in the sky above them, and the outcroppings of rock on each side cut off the wind. Ésuthain lay on his side, Lothíriel in his arms. Kissing her passionately, he ran his hand down her long, silken, loose hair. It was only the second time that she unbound her hair for him. He wanted it to be the only blanket they shared, and to see it fall on her naked back, over her buttocks and her breasts, when she would move above him.

He kept one leg bent so Lothíriel could not snuggle close enough into him to feel the physical evidence of the direction of his thoughts, but she quickly ruined his efforts. Running her hand down his stomach daringly, she aimed straight for it.

Ésuthain pulled his lips away from hers to take a hasty breath, snaring her hand and moving back from her slightly, in a mixture of panic and maddening desire.

"You must not tempt me too much," he teased, "it is cruel of you."

She gently freed her hand and put it back on his chest before she slid it slowly downwards. "I am not tempting you," she whispered in a sultry voice, "I am making an offer I hope you can't refuse."

Her hand slid under his tunic to caress his heated skin, though she did remain in less compromising parts. He took hold of her hand again and this time sat up.

Reality had caught up with them at long last.

"Lothíriel, as much as we might want it, we can't," he stated flatly. Sensing his sudden seriousness, she sat up next to him and pulled her hair behind her ears. To try and sweeten the denial, he tenderly combed her hair with his fingers.

"You know there are books in my father's library about pretty much anything," she said lightly, "amongst which I found one explaining all the details of conception, and I've done my calculations for the past three months. Today is as safe as it gets."

He lowered his head and pressed his forehead against his fist forcefully. Damn, he had not expected her to be so serious and intent on it. It did not help his resolve but, unfortunately, the grim reality rendered his determination, or the lack thereof, absolutely irrelevant.

"Lothíriel, may we speak frankly?"

She smiled slyly at him. "I think that's what I just did, and much more frankly than a gently-bred Lady such as I should have."

He smiled at her and kissed her hand. He loved her so.

"I was not worried about getting you pregnant. My concerns regard something much simpler than that."

She looked at him expectantly and waited for him to continue. He took a breath.

"Lothíriel, if… if we make love, you will not be a virgin anymore. Being a princess," she started protesting but he did not let her stop him, "one day you will be promised in marriage to a very important man, and he might take exception to discover on your wedding night that you have shared a bed with another man."

She looked away, silenced.

"Even if we somehow managed to keep a liaison secret, Lothíriel, there would be undeniable evidence marked in your body to prove it. If we succeeded at maintaining the secret, I would be in no danger. The only one who would run a risk – of being executed for infidelity, of being denied and disowned by your father and brothers – would be you. And, that, Lothíriel, is the only thing you can never convince me to do. I will never act in a way that would put you in danger."

A long silence followed.

"And if I was to tell my father that I love you," she hypothesized rebelliously, "and that I want and will marry you and only you on the face of this Earth?"

He shook his head sadly. "You will discover that there are things you cannot do, no matter how you try. You are a princess. You cannot marry a guard captain. Your father may love you and wish you happy, but he will not let you, because you are born to be a leader and a servant to Dol Amroth. One day you will be expected to give heirs to a nation and to rule it when your husband is away. My love is irrelevant in comparison."

She looked away, tears slowly falling down her eyes. "It comes back to duty, then, does it?"

The dry, grim reality. He squeezed her hand helplessly. "Yes, it does."

She took her hand away reluctantly after a long silence. "What now?"

Those two simple, cruel, heart-shredding words. "I… I will do as you wish," he answered quietly.

She dried her tears with the heels of her hands and attempted a weak smile. "You just said that it was the only thing you would not do." She took a steadying breath. "But you are right, I know. I think… it would be too difficult to go on as we have, now. I could get no satisfaction… no fulfilment… from holding back from what I want… what _we_ want. Ésuthain, I think… I think it best if we… if we leave it at that? I'll try… to find a diplomatic mission or something to keep me busy for a few months. After that, it should be easier to act naturally around each other. Is it… is it alright with you?"

He nodded solemnly. "I will honour your wish, Lothíriel. I can try to bring a full escort on your rides more often if you find my private company to be difficult to bear."

"That… would make things easier, yes." She smiled crookedly at him. "And if you could wear your armour, too."

Despite the sadness of the situation, he smiled back in amusement. "I'll do that."

She took a breath and looked away, trying to find the courage and composure to go back to the castle now.

"Lothíriel… my love… if I may make one request?"

She turned back to him, more tears in her eyes at the name he had just dared give her. "Yes?"

"If I cannot be the one to… to make you a woman, I would still like to cherish a last memory of us. Would you trust me… let me show you… what it could be like? I want to see you, in that way, with me, even if only once. I swear I will leave no mark on you; no one but us will ever know."

She watched him, considering, a long time. "Is it wise?" she inquired, scrutinizing him.

He smiled slyly. "Probably not, but I am resolved; I will not put you in danger. You can trust me."

She smiled. "I know I can trust you, Ésuthain. I always have."

After checking the tide and making sure they were completely alone, Ésuthain focused his attention solely on Lothíriel once more. He took his time caressing her hair and kissing her slowly until the sad mood of separation had lifted and passion ran high in their blood again.

He kissed her, tenderly and then passionately, trailed kisses up to her ear and slowly down her neck. He slowly ran his hands over her clothes, even where he had not dared touch before. Lothíriel's breath became irregular and she writhed against him, caressing his shoulders and chest. Slowly he undid the buttons holding the lace at her throat and down over her chest. Her breath turned to light and precipitated with anticipation. Agonizingly slowly he parted the fabric. He undid more buttons, nuzzling and kissing the skin that he uncovered, until her breasts were free.

He turned her on her side to undo the laces at the back of her skirt-pants. He held her against him with his left arm while his right hand worked the knots. Both arms around his neck, she looked up to him in a daze the whole time. Her green eyes misty with passion, her lovely red lips parted, her hair undone and wild, she was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. She was the embodiment of passion and he wanted to burnish each detail of her image in his memory.

When the laces gave way, he adoringly slid the cloth over her hips. The curve of her thin waist and generous hips and buttocks was almost too alluring to resist.

Laying her back to rest on the warm sand, he slowly kissed his way up her thigh, feeling her shiver each time his lips touched her warm, soft skin. Her smell and taste assaulted his senses. Her back arched and she let out a lovely whimper. She moaned and writhed, taking fistfuls of sand on each side of her. A sheen of sweat covered each square inch of her skin. Feeling her shivers of pleasure coming quicker and stronger, he kissed his way up her body until he had found her lips again. She kissed him back with frantic passion. Abandoning all control, she bunched his tunic in her fists and closed her eyes. Her face transformed with mounting passion.

When her release came, she arched her back, throwing her hips against him, and a powerful shudder ran through her. He kissed her throat lightly and lovingly. She smiled languidly and languorously at him, and then lowered her head onto his chest.

His breathing laboured and heavy, he watched her while she caught her breath. Her entirely naked body, lying against him who remained entirely dressed. He did not dare so much as take his boots off. The curve of her delicate back and round buttocks gleamed in the sunlight. The golden light played on her exposed legs, the shadows showing her muscles. Not a single part of her body was flabby; all was toned, pliant muscle under velvety skin. Her breasts, small but round, pressed against his chest, and her slowing breath blew along his skin, entering at the collar of his rumpled tunic.

Knowing she would appreciate gentle tenderness now, even if his mood still leaned towards steamy passion, he slowly caressed her hair. It was long minutes before Lothíriel lifted her head and looked at him.

She looked overwhelmed, and he decided with a smile it was a good thing.

"Ésuthain, I…"

He hushed her by planting a soft kiss on her lips.

"No words, my love. Just this memory."

Her eyes filled with tears and she pulled him into a fierce hug.

"I just want you to know I love you. I always will."

Pulling away, he dried her tears gently with his thumbs. Then he turned away to wipe his own eyes.

And then came the uncontested most unromantic moment they ever shared: Ésuthain awkwardly turned his back on her while she got dressed. The captain thought sullenly that it would break the mood and prepare them for the return to the castle.

About half-way through the very silent journey back to Dol Amroth, Dulinéhar lost a shoe. Ésuthain had been understandably distracted and he fell off his steed's back when the mount tripped. They had been walking in the surf, so Ésuthain took a bath of cold saltwater.

Despite the imminent arrival at the castle and the forceful finality it guaranteed to the end of their relationship, Lothíriel could not help but laugh when Ésuthain emerged from the icy water, swearing and hitting the surface with angry fists.

He looked up at her. "Oh, you find it funny, Your Highness?" he shouted in mock anger. Lothíriel laughed harder. "Do you want a bath too, then?"

She had almost doubled over in laughter and hardly kept to the saddle. It would have been extremely easy to pull her down to join him. Laughing too hard to speak, she wordlessly pointed out something to him.

Looking down at himself in the direction of her finger, he spotted it. A small beach crab, its crescent-shaped carapace overgrown with barnacles, had snapped its right claw on his tunic and dangled from his chest, algae in his other claw. Ésuthain chuckled in spite of himself. He turned the crab on its back and the creature, unsettled by the change of orientation, let go. Ésuthain carefully picked it by the sides of its carapace and deposited it back onto the seafloor.

He fished Dulinéhar's shoe out of the water, and walked the horse all the way back to the castle. When he arrived, his steed limped slightly. Everyone laughed good-naturedly at his explanation of how he had ended up drenched like that.

If either he or Lothíriel had a strange look on their faces, nobody seemed to blame it on anything but Ésuthain's dunk in seawater. The diversion of an icy drench even gave the captain an excuse to quickly get away from Lothíriel and to isolate himself in his room. Not one to indulge in luxuries, he nevertheless took a good long soak in a hot bath that day. Even after his very cold bath in the sea, there were some… dissatisfactions… that he needed to take care of. Moreover, he would never have another private moment to deal with his feelings regarding Lothíriel. So he secretly savoured the image he had of her. Once, even if only once, they had shared a moment of passion. He had seen the exquisite relaxation in her features of an ecstasy he had brought on. He had held her head over his heart while she caught her breath afterwards. He had tasted the sweat of passion on her skin.

And he would never do so again. And he would never even kiss her again. The bluntness and harshness of it cut inside like a thousand knives burrowed in his heart. It was a good long time before he pulled himself out of the bath.


	8. Moving On

_**VII. Moving on**_

Ésuthain went down with a cold. Lothíriel snatched the excuse to give him a few days off. Not that she showed any outward impatience or relief, but the captain easily understood her motivations. She even offered to send the Prince's healer to him, but he declined the offer as graciously as he could. There was no need to bother the healer only for a minor cold.

Lothíriel, good to her word, immediately found a trade delegation, headed for Lamedon, that could use her presence, and she embarked on it with her brother Elphir. Ésuthain as well as fifty Swan Knights followed. Being a captain, he answered to Elphir directly and was in charge of the other soldiers. He saw preciously little of Lothíriel during the two months the delegation visited the northern province of Gondor.

They arrived back in Dol Amroth just in time for the autumn harvest, and with so much work to be done, the princess had very little time for rides in the countryside.

And then, winter settled. Lothíriel concentrated on horse dance more intensely during that winter, so most of the time she worked in the castle's courtyard, where she had little need for an escort. Strong with his command experience with the trade delegation, Ésuthain began letting Lieutenant Gerând watch over the princess, while he attended meetings as General Karsenith's aide. Still, Ésuthain vehemently defended himself when Amrothos joked about him trying to leave his troublesome little sister to someone else while trying to move up the ranks. The Swan Knight always argued he did not abandon Lothíriel's defence at all. He merely kept himself busy when she had no need of his services. Besides, Ésuthain always joked back, the princes' requests he had to deal with as the general's aide were as troublesome as those of Her Highness.

At the end of winter, the pain of love denied had lost its sharpest edges. However, it had not disappeared entirely, and Ésuthain still felt a pang of wistful regret when she would smile in such a way, when she would squint in the sun, or when she would hug Sathil's neck with abandon. Still, it gradually became easier for Lothíriel and Ésuthain to be in each other's presence. So, when she asked him, during one of their now rare private rides, if he wanted to come along as the captain of her escort when she would go visit her cousin Faramir in Lebennin a few weeks later, he accepted after only a brief hesitation.

"Of course, Your Highness. It will be an honour to travel with you and show the rest of Gondor the pride we Swan Knights take in ensuring our princess' safety while she travels."

She smiled slyly. "Showing off to the Steward's son, is that it?"

"It can't hurt to appear competent in his eyes, Your Highness," he countered with an innocent smile. "Besides, those Ithilien Rangers need to see _real_ men at arms once in a while, otherwise they'll forget what's the use of a sword."

She giggled. "Of course, Captain, of course. So, how many _real_ men at arms do you think you'll need to prove your point… I mean, to ensure my safety?"

He smiled slyly. "I would think thirty would be a good compromise between practicality and showing-off… I mean, between practicality and security."

"All right. I'll let you bring it up to Amrothos on your next meeting with General Karsenith and my father?"

"I will do so, Your Highness. You need not bother yourself with such matters. Instead, you can concentrate on your choice of dresses to impress all those provincial ladies of Lebennin with the sophistication of Dol Amroth."

She mock glared at him. "And pray tell, Captain, why shouldn't I wish to bring only skirt-pants of Rohan and dazzle all those fluffy ladies and all those rugged rangers with my ease in the saddle?"

He coughed embarrassedly. "Far from me to insinuate that miss Sanriel's designs of skirt-pants are unsophisticated."

Lothíriel burst out laughing. "Oh, she would so like to hear that!"

"I doubt so," he grumbled.

ooooo

It was a pleasant trip from Dol Amroth to Lebennin. Lothíriel rode a good portion of the trip, but she retired to her carriage with her two ladies-in-waiting when she was too tired, or when her horse needed it. As a dance horse, Sathil had a well-developed musculature, but she was not cut for endurance, with her short back and legs and heavy neck. Nevertheless, Lothíriel loved her so much that she could not bear the idea of buying a hackney to replace her magnificent palfrey, even for long roads. So she simply took a carriage.

The transition between spring and summer favoured comfortable travel. Most of the mud of the road had dried, but the temperature still remained freshly comfortable to spend numerous hours in a carriage each day. The nights tended to be a little on the cold side, but Lothíriel's spacious tent permitted lighting a small fire in the evening, and the hot hearthstones would keep it warm throughout the night.

New leaves unfolded high up in the trees, colouring the naked branches with pale fresh green. Grass already grew happily by the side of the roads, and all sorts of spring flowers bloomed in the forest undergrowth.

An escort of twenty rangers mounted on tall and agile mounts and armed with ornate long bows, led by Faramir himself, joined the thirty Swan Knights guarding Princess Lothíriel when her carriage crossed the border between Dol Amroth and Lebennin.

When the two groups met, Lothíriel had been sitting in the carriage because she had ridden for most of the day, so Sathil and she were both exhausted. The princess tumbled down from her carriage with a happy yell.

"Faramir!"

The ranger laughed heartily at his cousin's inimitable enthusiasm. He dismounted just in time to receive Lothíriel in his arms when she threw herself at him.

"Yes, that's me, dear!" He smiled warmly at her.

"I'm so happy to see you!" Lothíriel exclaimed. "It's been so long since you've come to Dol Amroth, this year I decided I would come and see you myself."

Although Faramir lived in Ithilien to fulfil his duty to patrol it for the Steward, he also possessed a manor in Erithir, a small city in eastern Lebennin, where he could get away from his father, Minas Tirith and his duties in Ithilien, when he felt the need. Lately, orcs and men from Harad had begun scouring the edges of Ithilien, and all sorts of dark creatures – spiders, wraiths, ghosts, eerie lights charming people off to their deaths in the marshes on the eastern limits of the province – were sighted there occasionally. Faramir reported the uncertain and sometimes far-fetched rumours to his father, but he did not voice his concern that something was rising within Mordor. So the youngest son of the Steward had been much more preoccupied with the surveillance of his province in the last two years than he had been before, hence his lack of travel to other parts of Gondor, and his desire for a rest in a safe haven for a while, where he had invited his exuberant younger cousin.

However, he could hardly explain to Lothíriel why he could only visit her so rarely.

"I've been busy, you know," he drawled. "I'm not some gentle-bred princess who concerns herself only with her gowns and needlework. I actually have some work to do!"

As expected, she punched him on the arm. Rather hard, too. As a dance rider, she had to be as well-muscled as her horse.

"And how do you think Dol Amroth runs itself with my father away to Minas Tirith half the time," she huffed, "and my brothers running over the whole province with their diplomatic missions?"

He smiled innocently. "Isn't Dol Amroth renowned for the efficiency of its advisors and clerks?"

"Well, far from me to insinuate that my aides are not doing their work properly."

He chuckled and squeezed her shoulder affectionately. "It's good to see you again, my dear. Do you wish me to join you in your carriage, or do you prefer to ride with me? Night will fall soon, so I asked my rangers to set up camp in a clearing. It's only a short way from here."

"Well, then, Sathil should be able to carry me."

Faramir gave her a leg up and she settled in her mare's saddle, although a little uncomfortably. Even though Lothíriel routinely rode two to three hours a day, six and seven hours in the saddle still made her sore.

Faramir did small talk about the happenings in Minas Tirith while they trotted leisurely in the twilight. Lothíriel rode next to him, her Sathil a full three hands shorter than her cousin's tall palfrey.

A large gathering of tents composed Faramir's camp. After all, fifty men needed accommodations. Five large dormitory tents were raised already for the soldiers, with three bearing the boat and swan of Dol Amroth and two the emblem of Ithilien. Two somewhat smaller tents stood at the center, and Lothíriel guessed those two were for herself and for Faramir. The half of the clearing unoccupied by the tents had been cramped with targets for bow skill shows, a long handrail for tournaments, a ring for sword challenges and a large area packed with obstacles for horse jumping.

When she spotted the facilities for revelry, Lothíriel squealed happily, just like she used to do when she was eleven years-old.

"Faramir! A challenge tonight?"

He smiled. "I was rather thinking of tomorrow. The long ride from Dol Amroth must have tired you all. We are in no hurry to get to Erithir, so I thought you could rest a day watching the various challenges before we resume our journey."

Lothíriel beamed radiantly. "Oh, I would so like it! Besides, I look forward to my Swan Knights hammering your Rangers in the sword challenges." She grinned impishly.

"Hail!" Ésuthain shouted, riding a few paces ahead of the two nobles with Faramir's lieutenant. "Long live Princess Lothíriel!"

The Swan Knights repeated the hail, and the rangers hassled laughingly.

"Oh really?" Faramir shot back. "And I bet my Rangers will thrash your Knights in the bow challenges! They can't shoot farther than fifty yards, bottled up like the tin cans that they are!"

The rangers cheered loudly; half the knights laughed and half booed.

"Well, let's set up camp for now, and tomorrow we'll see about that," Faramir concluded.

Ésuthain and Faramir organized the watch together, while Lothíriel and her ladies-in-waiting made themselves comfortable in her tent. Lieutenant Gerând dispatched a few knights to carry the ladies' luggage while he inspected the tent and made sure the merry fire would keep it warm enough. A few rangers cooked a dinner of deer and various vegetables.

The dinner was obviously simple. Faramir, his lieutenant Etheron, Ésuthain, Lothíriel and her ladies-in-waiting sat around a table made up of a piece of wood held up by upturned saddles. The ladies were given cushions to put over the log that served as a common bench, but the men sat directly on the rough and wet wood.

Although many well-thinking ladies would have wrinkled their noses in disdain at the thought of such lack of sophistication, Lothíriel loved those few escapades from the formality, familiarity and predictability of her father's castle. Her education had given her a window to a wider world than Dol Amroth, and she enthusiastically seized every opportunity to discover a new part of it in person, be it as small as a dinner in a forest clearing under the stars and moon. Hopefully no rain threatened. Lothíriel had also carefully chosen her two most daring ladies to accompany her, having an intuition that the living conditions on the road might be simple. She did not regret her choice; the two girls giggled when the Steward's son – no less – gallantly offered them a cushion to sit on, and they spoke easily with the three men sitting familiarly at the same table.

Lothíriel's tent was furnished with only rudimentary travelling cots, but the road had exhausted the princess so much that she thought to herself she would have slept on the ground if necessary. She lay down on her cot and pulled up the linen sheets, the wool cover and the deer fur up to her chin. Even if the hard cloth of the cot stretched taut underneath her, she thought fondly that at least Faramir had made sure she would not be cold. Her two companions giggled as they lay down to sleep, commenting with daring amusement that it was a very rustic evening. Lothíriel smiled at that, and agreed. She fell asleep at the sound of the crackling fire and men talking around her tent.


	9. Revelry

_So I had computer problems. Big ones. Sort of like, oh shit, my hard drive just screwed its index. I think I just lost ALL the contents of my HD!_

_Hopefully, it was eventually extracted from the remains of the HD. Still, it put me in a very foul mood against my computer and I sulked for weeks. So I knit in front of the TV while listening to a downright shameful amount of seasons of House, NCIS, Prison Break and ST:TNG._

_But, my sulking is over now. __I think__._

_That being said, I should update more regularly from now on. Thank you for keeping reading the story and please leave me a review to encourage me :)_

* * *

**VIII. Revelry**

The next day was spent in revelry, starting with the sword challenges. The matches began between the youngest recruits, and up to experienced men until even Gerând, Ésuthain and Faramir participated.

Gerând was the first semi-finalist. He fought with graceful skill, and earned himself the respect of the Swan Knights and Rangers. The second semi-finalist was Ésuthain, who fought ferociously; rumour quickly ran among the soldiers that he hailed from Rohan and shared the wild riders' barbarian rage in battle. Faramir and his lieutenant Etheron also earned a place on the semi-finals.

The first semi-finale was held between Gerând and Faramir. Even though the Swan Knight held his ground firmly and skilfully, he had to bow down to Faramir after a few minutes of battle. The duel between Ésuthain and Etheron ended with a similar outcome.

To give Ésuthain and Faramir some time to rest before they challenged each other for the title of best swordsman, the archery contest took place. Ésuthain declined the offer to participate, explaining laughingly that he would only make a fool of himself if he attempted to fire a bow.

The utter domination of the challenge by Faramir's men became obvious from the first round of eliminations. Only one Swan Knight lasted until the quarter finale, and his elimination elicited much laughter and jeering from the Rangers, which the Swan Knights took with good humour. A short, brown-skinned and brown-haired young Ranger by the name of Barethen won. Deadly serious throughout the contest, his grim face broke into an exuberant smile when he scored the winning hit. He beamed proudly at Faramir for upholding the exacting standards of archery the steward's son set for his men, and he blushed when Lothíriel's companions showered him with compliments.

Then came the time of the duel between Ésuthain and Faramir. An expectant hush fell on the fifty men and three women. The ladies did not have the luxury of a private pavilion bearing their colours, where they could sit in the shade and fan themselves. Instead, the gallant men had offered them a spot under a tree with the gentle spring wind to cool them.

Faramir and Ésuthain bowed to each other.

"Good luck, my Lord," Ésuthain said.

"Good luck, Captain. You know you're going to need it."

Ésuthain smiled slyly. "I would not dare answer freely. My harsh words could put me in trouble with a rightful Lord of Gondor."

Laughter erupted in the crowd and Faramir shared it. The two men started circling each other, carefully watching the other's eyes. Cool grey appraising cool grey. Ésuthain carried a heavy broadsword and a shield. He also wore his mail and breastplate embossed with the swan and ship of Dol Amroth. Faramir held a more slender long sword and smaller round shield, and wore only light leather that made it easier patrolling the woods of Ithilien.

With his customary aggressiveness, Ésuthain attacked first. A deftly risen sword deflected his direct cut to the left. The counterattack came quickly, an upwards cut aimed at his unprotected left leg. Ésuthain hastily lowered his shield and blocked, but the move forced him back a step and they disengaged. They started circling each other again amidst the cheering of the soldiers.

The duel dragged on for a few minutes, and blows were exchanged and blocked that would have "killed" lesser opponents, as practice blades were used. Soldiers of both camps cheered loudly at each series of quick and precise attacks and parries.

In the middle of such a series of moves, Faramir saw his opening. When Ésuthain blocked with his shield, he tensed those huge shoulders of his, and his sword arm would move back a few inches. Not much, but it would have to be enough, because that monster of an armour-plated knight could not be defeated otherwise. Faramir already panted and both his arms ached from blocking the crushing blows Ésuthain dealt, effortlessly it seemed.

So Faramir put all his heart into a backhanded cut that would not seem a feint. Ésuthain predictably brought his shield around to his right and blocked. All the knight's massive muscles tensed up to absorb the strength of the blow. Faramir quickly moved his blade around the edge of the shield into a sideways thrust aimed at Ésuthain's ribs. The knight started stepping back – by the Valar, how could he move so quickly without tipping over under the weight of his huge armour? Faramir had to stretch his arm farther, out of balance. His sword slid masterfully between the shield and the blade of his opponent. The tip of Ésuthain's sword stretched far to his left and he brought his fist up and to the right. Faramir abruptly stopped his sword just short of the rings of the mail on the knight's unprotected ribs. Ésuthain halted the upwards trajectory of his sword when its blunted edge came into close proximity with Faramir's neck.

Both men stayed rigidly motionless, one defeated by a blow to the lungs, and the other by a clean cut to the neck. They stared into each other's eyes, breathing heavily for a second, before a feminine voice rose up.

"A draw!" Lothíriel exclaimed.

Ésuthain carefully pulled his sword back, and Faramir removed the tip of his sword from Ésuthain's ribs. They bowed respectfully to each other.

"Maybe I shouldn't have turned down your offer of luck, my Lord," Ésuthain joked.

Faramir laughed and clasped him on the shoulder friendlily. "Maybe not! To be honest, I'm glad I pulled out with a draw. That sword of yours feels like it weighs a hundred pounds!"

"And yours is as swift and unforgiving as arrows, my Lord."

The small crowd, in high spirits, lunched frugally with the leftovers from the preceding night, although some fresh fruits were added to the menu. A healthy cherry tree grew by the edge of the stream and had enough ripe fruit to sate everyone.

The afternoon was dedicated to the horseman shows, starting with the tournament. Few of the Rangers were geared heavily enough to volunteer safely, so the Swan Knights mostly fought among themselves. Ésuthain, having already earned a victory, politely declined the invitation to participate. Gerând won easily, with his extremely good seat on top of his big black steed. His mount weighed enough that he had no trouble taking the recoil when the adversary's lance touched and glanced off his rider's breastplate.

The jumpers ran last. Despite her impressive knowledge of horses, Lothíriel could not have guessed from the long, slender necks and flat, lean hindquarters of the Ithilien tall mounts that they were such impressive jumpers. When she first spotted some of the obstacles, she thought the Rangers had put them there as a prank meant to impress the ignorant people of Dol Amroth. Surely a horse could not jump so high? Aside from the sheer size of some of the obstacles, the space between them would also be a problem. Cramped into a fairly small portion of the clearing, they left little space to collect the horse before he had to jump. Most of the obstacles were constructed with alder or small birch trunks fastened with rope to stakes driven into the ground. The heights ranged from one to three feet, but one huge barrier of fir branches stretched a seemingly impossible five and half feet high. The stream itself would serve as a flat six-feet large obstacle.

The Rangers had arranged some obstacles in twos and threes. The pairs, called doubles, stood just far apart enough for one strike. The threes were called triples and were spaced two strikes between each one. Their challenge resided in keeping the horse's momentum in a lengthy series of jumps.

A ranger navigated the first course as a demonstration of the itinerary to the other riders. While he handled the smaller obstacles carelessly, and the doubles and triples masterfully, his horse missed a good foot of the high barrier. The fir branches bended easily before the horse's legs, so there was no injury. Some of the knights removed their heavy armour and tried themselves at the jumps. A few even fared well enough.

However, there came a man in a league of his own. Mounted on an eighteen hands bay gelding, Ethail approached each obstacle with impeccable elegance and calm assurance. His horse's strikes spanned longer than the average, but he nevertheless always calculated the necessary space to utter perfection, so he never arrived at an obstacle a foot too short or too long. Even though two other rangers managed a clear ride on the first try, Ethail beat them easily on the second try, when the runs were timed.

Lothíriel rose at the end of the challenge to congratulate the rider personally. The man, although obviously flattered by the attention of a princess, seemed a bit puzzled as to its reason.

"Do you jump yourself, Your Highness?" he asked in a little confusion. "I did not think your palfrey had the right look to be a jumper, but perhaps you have another horse?"

His confusion amused her. "No, I do not jump, but I appreciate a fair display of riding skills, whatever the discipline."

"My cousin is a dance rider," Faramir explained helpfully.

Ethail's face lit up in understanding. "Oh! Of course, Your Highness, I should have recognized the muscled neck. Please forgive my lack of attention."

She waved off his apologies gracefully. "There is no need to apologize. I doubt you see many dance horses performing between tree logs and streams in Ithilien. This terrain is much better fitted to jumpers such as you and your magnificent Dersachs."

She handed him her handkerchief, which contents could easily be identified by the red juice staining the delicate cloth.

Ethail, completely nonplussed, took the proffered handkerchief. "Your Highness?"

"Cherries," she explained with a smile. Seeing his uncomprehending look, she elaborated. "For your horse. I've taken the seeds out so he can eat them. I thought he ought to have some treat after such a performance."

Ethail smiled at her, but his amusement showed despite his best efforts.

"That is very thoughtful of you, Your Highness. Would you like to give them yourself? I know he's fairly bigger than what you're used to, but I assure you he's quite gentle. If you went through the trouble of taking all the seeds out, at least you can take the credit and pet him yourself."

She smiled. "I'd very much like to meet him, yes, if you don't mind."

Ethail gave her back the handkerchief full of stoned cherries and led her towards the tall gelding. The horse pointed his ears forward and his nostrils flared when she approached bearing the delicious smell of sweet fruit. She laughed at his gluttony when he paid her no attention at all and buried his nose in her handkerchief to greedily gulp down all the cherries.

Faramir accompanied them and questioned his ranger about the origins of his horse, knowing the history of the jumpers of Ithilien would interest Lothíriel.

"Dersachs? Well, he's out of Azure of Eram by Black-Night of Meíthen, if those names are familiar to you." Lothíriel shook her head. "Black-Night was a famed jumper in his time; he belonged to Count Untel. Azure was my father's best mare. My family is in the business of horse breeding."

Lothíriel nodded. "What is your family's name? Maybe I should recommend you next time Erchirion needs a new horse for hunting."

"I am honoured by the thought, Your Highness, but unfortunately that would be impossible. You remember the cold winter that descended on us two years ago?" She nodded, thinking back on the headaches she had had trying to find a way to save the more exotic crops of Dol Amroth, like oranges and cocoa. "A pack of wargs came wandering out of Mordor, probably driven by hunger. They devastated my herd and killed half my horses, among which Azure and Kath, my best mare and stallion. I sold what was left and all I kept is Dersachs, here." He patted his horse's neck affectionately. "I took up my father's sword and I joined Lord Faramir's patrols. Dersachs has served me well so far. I try to serve Gondor in the same manner."

Ethail and Faramir knew better than alarm Lothíriel further by revealing that wargs sightings had become more and more frequent in the last three years, and that Ethail had not given up horse breeding only because of his ravaged herd; you could always build up your stables again. However, he had felt that creatures skulking out of Mordor were a mounting threat. That gnawing concern had turned him from a breeder to a man-at-arms. Wargs and other horrors moved stealthily out of borders the dark kingdom, these years, and not only during harsh winters. Something might be brewing in Mordor, or maybe not. Either way, Ethail had preferred to try and do something about it. However, he carefully kept those foreboding details from a princess' innocent ears.

"An honourable endeavour," Lothíriel complimented with some wistfulness evident. "I cannot join the Rangers of Ithilien with my jumping horse, as I am only a gentle-bred lady fond of horse dance. Still, I try to keep Dol Amroth as prosperous as it can be, so everyone has something to eat and trade, and we can do our part when another province of Gondor needs our help."

Faramir put his arm around her shoulders and, even though his heart felt heavy with the threat of Mordor just east of the land he tried to protect, he attempted to lighten his cousin's mood.

"And we need you nobles to do your job just like you need us soldiers to do ours. Come on, what good would we be now, if we starved because you had no money to pay us with?"

Predictably, his comment brought back the careless Lothíriel of the old days. She grinned impishly at him. "If you didn't eat so much to start with, you glutton, you wouldn't take so much from the coffers of Gondor!"

"I am a glutton now?" Faramir protested with false indignation. "Who ate so many glacé hazelnuts that she made herself sick and had to be taken to the Houses of Healing?"

Lothíriel blushed. "Need I remind you that I was only twelve years-old, and I'd never tasted hazelnuts before. We don't have them in Dol Amroth," she explained defensively. "As for the Houses of Healing, it was Boromir who insisted on taking me there. My hands would have been fine with just a good soak in cool water." Then she grew a backbone. "Besides, if you'd had the kindness of warning me of the hazel hairs that turn splinters once they're in the skin, I wouldn't even have needed Boromir's insistent good intentions!"

Faramir tried to keep a straight face, but burst out laughing. "I did apologize for that. I swear, I didn't think you'd peel enough nuts to skin your hands. I just thought your fingertips would scratch for a few hours. Come, let's both get something to eat and show that we aren't, in fact, such gluttons." Lothíriel seemed more agreeable and ready to take his arm so he could lead her to the set table. Of course, it was an invitation to ruin it, so he took off in a very un-steward's-son-like manner and threw over his shoulder,

"Except when it comes to glacé hazelnuts!"

Instead of giving chase, she aimed at him one of the bad cherries that Dersachs had refused to eat. The red fruit flew and splashed against the back of Faramir's head, trickling down his bound hair and over the collar of his tunic. He stopped and wiped it off disgustedly. He turned angrily to Lothíriel, who stared at him in complete shock, unable to believe that she had managed to catch him. Then she started laughing, as did most of the men who had witnessed the incident.


	10. Dance

_**IX. Dance**_

_Note: for those interested, all the dressage figures mentioned in the current chapter can be found easily enough on YouTube with the appropriate keywords: shoulder-in, piaffe, spanish walk, pirouette, one-tempi flying changes and pesade._

"That's it!" Faramir exclaimed fiercely. "You are so going for a dunk in the stream! Lady or not!"

She squealed and ran off. Damn, he would have had a better chance if she did not wear her skirt-pants! She had an unfair advantage: everybody's collaboration. They often blocked his path with false innocence, but Faramir did manage to catch Lothíriel quickly enough. Even with her skirt-pants, his strides were longer than hers, and he had much more experience running over forest terrain.

When he caught her, he lifted her bodily from the ground, just like he used to do when she was a girl, and he carried her, roaring and kicking, to the stream. The Swan Knights and Rangers looked on, laughing good-naturedly.

"Faramir! You ox! Let me go!" she screamed. She did manage to land a fair blow to his ribs with her right foot, but he disregarded the pain. He held her over the edge of the small stream at its deepest – which could not be much more than two feet.

"I think you deserve an un-lady-like punishment for your un-lady-like behaviour! Throwing things at a Lord of Gondor! What would your father say?"

"I was just making my cousin pay for his snide remarks!" she roared back.

"I second that!" Ethail exclaimed.

"Oh you do, don't you? You want a dunk in the cold water too?" Faramir shot over his shoulder.

"I second Her Highness too!" Ésuthain chimed in. "Be careful, now, Lord Faramir, with my armour you're going to have a harder time pushing me all the way to the stream!"

Everyone roared with laughter.

"Please, Lord Faramir, think of us before you throw Princess Lothíriel in the water," one of her ladies-in-waiting pleaded. "We'll have to wash the mud out of her clothes and brush her hair dry in our frigid cold tent if you do."

"Please, have pity on us!" the second lady added, barely containing her laughter.

Faramir heaved a heavy sigh of mock surrender. "All right, all right, I'm outnumbered." He put Lothíriel down and her laughing eyes and smile told him his stratagem had worked beyond his expectations. She had forgotten about wargs and dead brood mares. "But be careful now," he admonished, "I won't be called 'ox' again by the likes of you, rascal! You're lucky to have all those champions, but how you acquire them with your manners is beyond me!"

She grinned. "Maybe that's because you're the only one who ever deserved to be called an ox. Aside from Amrothos, of course."

"What didn't Amrothos ever do? Come now, dear, let's go eat something, and let's try not to break into a fight on our way, this time."

"If you promise never to mention hazelnuts to me ever again," Lothíriel purred with a troublesome smile, "my ladies-in-waiting and myself will wash the cherry juice from your tunic."

He huffed. "What? And risk having scratching powder planted all over it? I'll do my laundry myself!"

She laughed back and invited the winners of the day's challenges to Faramir's table. Faramir, Ésuthain, Gerând, Barethen and Ethail sat with Lothíriel and her two ladies. The girls did nothing to hide that the young archer had struck their fancy, although a stern look from the princess reminded them to keep their manners even if they were dining on a plank of wood in the middle of a forest. So the two women merely showered Barethen with their most sophisticated, cultivated and reserved flatteries. The young man did not really know how to answer besides blushing and muttering shyly that he had had an excellent instructor.

About half-way through the dinner, rangers lit bonfires around the camp to ward off darkness. Faramir turned to his little cousin and refilled her wine cup.

"So, did you like your day, my dear?"

She smiled exuberantly. "Of course I did! All the challenges were marvellous and there was so much impressive riding to watch!"

"Are you very tired?"

She shrugged. "A little, of course, but not too much. I'll be more than ready to go in the morning, if that's what worries you."

He shook his head. "Actually, I had something else in mind. Maybe you'd like Sathil to dance tonight? We could light torches around the ring we used for the sword duels. You'd have a sixty yards circular track. Would that be big enough?"

"You want me to make Sathil dance? For everyone to watch?"

"Why not? I'm sure my men would appreciate the poetry of dance. We don't have that many occasions to see it. It's a rare enough discipline."

She considered for a while. "All right, I'll do it. But I'll have to be able to warm up in private, first. And don't expect anything too fancy. I'm not good enough yet at the airs above the ground to try them out here in the open and with a public."

He smiled. "Just your regular figures. Maybe a few changes of lead at canter to show how lightly Sathil does them, compared to the trudging jumpers of this afternoon?"

She rolled her eyes. "Faramir, I can make Sathil change lead with my eyes closed and without reins or bit. Of course I'll include that!"

"Then what about shoulder-in?"

"That shouldn't be too much to ask."

"What about piaffe?"

She rolled her eyes again. "All right! But that's everything you'll get. Pushy."

"I wasn't about to ask more," he denied with a falsely innocent look.

Once they finished the dinner and the wine, Lothíriel went with Ésuthain to brush and saddle Sathil. Of course, a white palfrey looked grand and all, but there were some disadvantages. Namely, the white coat. It easily stained green with grass when the horse rolled on the ground to scratch her back.

So, when Ésuthain and Lothíriel arrived at the paddock where the princess' mount had spent the day, they watched her in consternation. After a day of rest in the wilderness outside the confines of a stable box, the mare was in high spirits and neighed happily at her mistress, oblivious to the green spots marring her perfect white coat on the neck, back and croup.

"I'll give her a shower, Your Highness," Ésuthain said resignedly. "Let me do it, there's no need for you to spoil your dress. You can go and make sure Faramir arranges something so you can do your warm-up in private."

He wore his armour, so Lothíriel decided it was fairly safe to squeeze his arm in gratefulness. She did so, and left to go seek her cousin instead.

Faramir had already arranged for his tent to be dismounted. He directed his men to drive anchors in the ground, and they erected posts in a half-circle around the duel ring. They fixed them upright with a mix of anchors in the ground and ropes lashing them to nearby trees. Then the tarp of Faramir's tent was stretched on those posts and Lothíriel declared herself satisfied with the improvised curtain.

Ésuthain arrived just then, holding Sathil by the reins. The mare's white coat gleamed immaculate again in the torchlight, but her usually magnificent long mane hung rather miserably on the side of her neck, wet through and through.

Lothíriel took hold of the reins and gently rubbed Sathil's nose. The mare blew in her mistress' face and buried her face against her chest. The princess scratched her behind the ears with a fond smile.

"Captain?"

"Yes, Your Highness?"

"Would you mind asking my ladies to stone some cherries for her? I haven't had time to, but she'll surely deserve it. As usual, she'll be a good girl."

Ésuthain smiled. "Thank you, Your Highness, not to ask me to do it. For a while there I was afraid! You make me shower her, what next?"

"Oh, I know you feed cherries with their stones to that Dulinéhar brute of yours, so I wouldn't put it beyond you to try the same with Sathil. Please, just ask my ladies."

Ésuthain chuckled. "Don't worry, I will do so, Your Highness."

He gave her a leg-up and she led her mare behind the giant curtain.

ooooo

The presence of the curtain worked up anticipation in the men. Some even tried to peek at the joints in the tent's cloth, but Ésuthain and his Swan Knights fiercely guarded against it.

After half an hour of warm-up, Lothíriel declared she was ready. Faramir's Rangers hastily dismantled the curtain and its posts and anchors. All the men fit around the wide duel ring easily, but some of the shortest ones climbed on logs or rocks to get a better view.

Lothíriel knew the crowd she faced was unfamiliar with horse dance, so she would have to try and make look spectacular something that was not meant to be. She would also have to keep her show short and finish with the most eloquent and sensational displays possible. To be easily spotted in the torchlight against the blackness of night, she had chosen white skirt-pants and tunic and had put a white scarf over her black hair. Even though fifteen minutes would have been enough warm-up, Lothíriel had waited until Sathil's mane had dried down. She had combed it as best she could with her fingers so it would wave with the mare's moves.

Lothíriel began with a circle around the ring at a slow, collected walk, and she asked Sathil to gradually pull her forelegs higher when she walked. It took some time before the audience noticed, but by the end of her circle, Sathil stretched her legs completely before her at each step and appreciative rumours ran in the crowd.

"Poetry indeed," Faramir muttered to himself. Lothíriel held her back ramrod straight, and her mastery over her mount was so complete that she looked perfectly immobile. The slightest touch on either of the four reins she used, or on the flanks of her mount, were enough to elicit such figures. Lothíriel's long diaphanous sleeves waved gently with each of Sathil's steps. Both rider and palfrey gleamed with the pearly light of moonlight, and looked so light and otherworldly that they could have been a ghost or a vision.

Lothíriel pushed her mount to a trot, and faster until she had to work with every fibre of her abdominals to keep a sitting trot, which made the small crowd clap and cheer at her unshakable seat. Then, Lothíriel slowed Sathil to a collected trot and cut the circle in half, trotting on a straight line going through its middle. She inclined her mare's shoulders fifteen degrees to the right, but pushed her with her right leg and rein, so Sathil trotted diagonally, still heading straight for the other side of the ring instead of where her nose pointed. Daintily the mare crossed her legs at each step. More clapping saluted the dance performance.

Lothíriel repeated the same manoeuvre on the other side. Horses, like people, had a favoured side, and a good part of dance mastery consisted in eliminating it. Sathil performed the shoulders-in with as much light elegance on both sides.

Reaching the other side of the circle, Sathil fluidly slid into canter at Lothíriel's light touch of a shin on her flank. Lothíriel began another of those figures that inexperienced eyes took a while to figure out. Gradually diminishing the circle's diameter, she cantered calmly around the ring. The spiral ended with Sathil, never breaking her canter, making a full turn on herself at the perfect center of the duel ring. Her hind hooves rose up only to fall down on the same spot. Cheers exploded from the crowd.

Even though Sathil had come a long way from the frightful filly she had been when Lothíriel had bought her, Lothíriel let her gallop freely around the ring a few times to vent her nervousness about the clapping. Sathil's mouth, which had hardened nervously on the bit, gradually relaxed when Lothíriel gave her enough rein to stretch her neck.

When she had calmed down sufficiently, Lothíriel slowed her down and cut the circle in half again. Touching alternatively Sathil's left and right flank with her heel, she made her mount change lead every strike. People started cheering quietly after two changes, but after five, when she reached the other side of the ring, loud clapping saluted her performance.

Lothíriel, slowing her horse to a walk, went to the center of the circle, where she stopped. Everyone held their breath, trying to guess what she had chosen for a finale. The mare suddenly sank from the hindquarters, and calmly and gracefully rose from the forequarters, balancing effortlessly and lightly on her hind legs. White in the moonlight, she looked like she would grow wings and take off.

Such beauty lay captured in the image that it took a second before someone thought of clapping. Lightly Sathil's forelegs fell on the ground, and Lothíriel bowed over her mare's neck. Everyone followed immediately when Faramir stood to better clap. Tears of emotion on her face, Lothíriel turned Sathil around and bowed to the other side of the crowd.

When the cheering receded, Faramir went to help Lothíriel dismount.

"Now I wish I'd helped your ladies stone cherries," he said with a fond smile. "And I wish I'd found some hazelnuts nearby. I think both of you deserve a treat for such a performance."

Faramir could not be sure because of the torchlight colouring her skin golden, but he thought she blushed at the compliment.

"Thank you," she said in a subdued voice. Then she grinned triumphantly. "But you promised never to mention hazelnuts to me ever again! That means I can throw more bad cherries at you!"

He exploded into laughter. "Absolutely not! Now come, I'll help you rub Sathil down. I'd offer to do it alone so you can rest, but I know you'll never let me convince you to let someone else take care of your horse, so I won't even try."

Most of the horses were picketed on the other side of the stream, where Faramir and Lothíriel headed to take good care of Sathil. Lothíriel lovingly fed her mare the stoned cherries her ladies brought, and then headed for her tent, where she discovered a hot bath waiting for her. Even though she loved Sathil dearly, she felt extremely grateful for a bath where to wash off the smell of horse from her hair and under her nails.

A little pang of nostalgia hit her, knowing Ésuthain had probably arranged for such quantity of water to be heated just for her, but she did not linger on it. It was behind her, she told herself, and that was as it should be.


	11. A Threat to the North

_**X. A Threat to the North**_

They arrived at Erithir just in time for the midday meal of the following day. Lothíriel and her ladies-in-waiting spent the afternoon getting settled in the small but sunny rooms that had been lent to them for the month Lothíriel planned to stay in Lebennin. The princess took a light dinner in her chambers and retired early, to rest from the long journey.

ooooo

The next morning, a Ranger burst in the dining room in the middle of breakfast. He smiled and acted casually, but his armour lined with dust he had not taken the time to remove, and his two days-old stubble plainly showed the urgency of his news.

Faramir excused himself gracefully and left to speak with his soldier in his study. The incident worried Lothíriel, but the bright and clear weather made it hard to keep a brooding disposition for long. Just after breakfast, the princess left her two ladies-in-waiting working on their needlepoint while chatting amiably with Acartha, the housekeeper, and went to see her cousin.

Faramir's worry creased small folds in his forehead when he called her to come in. A map of northern Lebennin stretched on top of the mahogany desk behind which he sat. Lothíriel only gave it a cursory glance, but she identified immediately Longeth pass, Fox well and the Yath road. Small tin figurines dotted the road and seemed to concentrate around Longeth pass, though a red mark stone had been laid down on Fox well, presumably the bandits' target. Following his cousin's look and factoring in her knowledge of geography, Faramir felt forced to reveal some information lest Lothíriel should build the most worrying and unlikely scenarios in her head.

"One of my patrols has spotted Haradrim around Yath road. They seem to be headed for Fox well. I'm sorry, dear, but I will have to go and have a look."

She gave him an intense look at the word 'Haradrim' and considered the matter in silence a while.

"What would Harad want with Fox well?" she asked at length. "The Red River road and its bridge are much more interesting targets if they want to secure a way into the heart of Gondor from Pelargir."

Faramir shrugged. "I know. Maybe they reckon it's not as well guarded and an easier prey. In any event, I'll have to go and check."

She nodded. "So you'll be gone for a few days, at least."

"I'm afraid so. I'm sorry to go just as you arrive."

"Don't worry," she said with a smile. "There is a whole household to keep me occupied, and anyway I was coming to tell you that you'd have to do without my company today. The weather is so fair that I'd like to go for a ride. Unless you think that's too dangerous?"

He shook his head. "No, Fox well is fairly far, and the surroundings of Erithir are patrolled regularly. Don't go too far, and do take an escort with you, there could be boars or something."

She nodded. "Don't worry, I'll be a good girl. I was just thinking of riding around the estate a bit, seeing the country and all."

Faramir smiled. "Of course. It's beautiful at this time of year. If you go towards 'your' pond," Faramir referred to a pool two leagues from his manor, that Lothíriel liked much and visited each year when she visited Erithir, "you'll climb a bit and have a view of the estate and the fields around it."

"I'll do that, then, and let you prepare your foray to Yath road."

The Rangers always stood ready to go wherever their captain needed them to, so in no time they had tents loaded on a packhorse, food packed, and their horses were saddled and ready to go. In fact, they left the estate just before Lothíriel, and made good haste towards the north, going at a quick trot. Ésuthain had gathered an escort of six Swan Knights and two Rangers to go with the princess, men he had chosen because they would have no trouble keeping a close formation even if Lothíriel and Sathil went for a gallop.

Lothíriel deeply enjoyed her quiet ride in the countryside: first between the fields of wheat lining the road leading to the manor, then into a beautiful oak forest, and up a hill where she could admire the beauty of Lebennin spreading below her. On the way back, she raced with her protectors down the road stretching straight between the fields. The Swan Knights, mounted on their heavy steeds, could not hope to catch up with her, but the Rangers on their tall skinny jumpers would have outrun her easily had they not been so gentlemanly.

Lothíriel laughed, her eyes bright with exhilaration, when she passed the manor's gates at full gallop and stopped just short of the dogs' kennel. The stable master smiled approvingly, which earned him Acartha's recriminations.

"Don't you encourage her to risk breaking her neck like that, you brute!"

She shooed the stable master back to his horses with her handkerchief.

ooooo

Lothíriel read and worked on her needlepoint for the two following days, because the weather turned grey and drizzly. On the third day, however, the morning dawned clear and fresh. Water from the night's rain still clung to the edges of roofs and grass blades, but no clouds marred the blue expanse of sky overhead. Lothíriel decided to go for another ride, and she asked Ésuthain if it would be reasonable to bring a lunch and ride to the pond and back. It would take most of the day, but it was an easy trek.

Ésuthain hesitated, but Etheron, who governed in Faramir's absence, pointed out it was only two leagues away from the manor, so the Swan Knight agreed. Lothíriel put bread, cheese, sausage and a wineskin in her saddlebags, as well as a blanket, two apples and Sathil's feedbag. The other riders packed a similar lunch, and they were off.

A year had passed since Lothíriel had gone to the pond behind the manor, but it was just as she remembered it. Dark cool water sat in the center of a clearing overshadowed by tall trees overhead. Small schools of fish swam nervously between the blades of the grass-like aquatic plants growing on the sides of the pond.

The small group dismounted and let their horses drink off their thirst of a long ride in the sun. Lothíriel went to sit at her favourite spot, a flat mossy rock at the feet of a big beech tree. She had sat on it so many times over the years, visiting Erithir, that she had smoothed off the rock's top. Lothíriel folded her blanket in six and sat on it, beckoning her obedient mare close so she could rummage in the saddlebags without standing up. Ésuthain was in the process of directing his men to different watch posts when the attack fell on them.

At the first yell of attack, the Swan Knight's blood turned icy in his veins. Down from their horses, they stood at a distinct disadvantage. Sitting so close to the pond, it would be hard for Lothíriel to flee. The enemy would have ample time to cut off all ways of escape.

Sathil reared in fear at the sounds of attack and ran off, nearly trampling Ésuthain in the process. She galloped through the water and rushed down the trail towards the manor. Ésuthain gripped Lothíriel's arm and jerked her up to her feet from her frozen position, gaping at the attackers springing up in ambush.

"Gerând! Take the princess and run!"


End file.
